The Right Place
by jarienn972
Summary: This is a tale that will open with a mystery - one that will play out both in the present and in flashbacks. Taking place almost entirely outside of Storybrooke, I wanted to create an environment that would have Emma relying on her instincts rather than her magic to figure out what happened to her husband and why.
1. Prologue

_Author's note: I've typically waited until I've completed each story to post each on in their entirety but this time, I'm trying out posting each chapter as I complete and finalize the editing. Tonight, I'm posting both the prologue and the first chapter of one of my current WIPs as the prologue only gives a brief hint at the story's direction. This is a new venture for me and involved the creation of one major and several minor characters of my own to set up the story which will take place mostly in Portland. Some of the settings for Portland, Maine are real and others are entirely fictional. The prologue might not seem very Once Upon a Time suited, but the mystery will unfold for you by the end of this little introduction and I hope you'll stick with the tale as you learn what led us here._

 _Sunday Afternoon, off the coast of Portland, Maine – just south of Long Island_

They'd ventured a lot further out into Casco Bay than Ty Harris would have preferred considering that Will's rusty old trawler was barely holding together, but his buddy had insisted that he had found the absolute best spot for harvesting local lobsters - somewhere out here in the middle of the ocean. Now they were navigating through the sound toward Peaks Island where Will made a gradual turn to the west heading toward the rugged eastern shore of Diamond Island. And yet, somewhere out here in the cold Atlantic, Will had sworn on his season tickets to Fenway that he had stumbled onto the perfect location to drop his traps. He'd returned from his last run with some of the biggest, meatiest lobsters that Ty had ever seen, but right now, he wasn't really sure if Will even knew where he was going because they were heading straight into the ferry and shipping lanes. Just what the hell had he been thinking last night when - for whatever reason - it had only taken a few beers to convince him to tag along? Now with his hangover a constant reminder of his questionable decision, he could only pray that they were nearly there before the choppy sea claimed what remained of his dignity.

"So – where exactly is this little sweet spot of yours? All I can see out there on the horizon is half a mile of uninhabited coastline. You sure you remember where you dropped those traps?" He tugged his charcoal grey wool cap tighter over his dark blonde hair and reddening ears to ward off the chill of the sea air. Even though it was nearly mid-day, the sun had scarcely raised the temperature more than a degree or two as the surprisingly strong spring winds were winning the battle, but at least the skies were clear.

"We're almost there," Will replied, slightly perturbed that his friend would dare question him – or his recollection. "It's just out a little further – near the south coast of Little Diamond."

"Isn't that pretty close to the ferry?" Ty wondered, trying to figure out how such a busy waterway could possibly be a lobster fishing paradise.

"It's to the east of all that," Will explained as he eased off the throttle to slow the trawler as they entered the main shipping lane between the larger islands.

"I'm probably going to regret asking this," Ty began, "but is it even legal to be fishing out here? Please tell me you have permits for this…"

"Sort of…"

"Sort of? Will, what exactly does 'sort of' mean?" Ty glared at his dark haired pal wondering if it was too late to tell him to just drop him off at the nearest ferry terminal before he regretted this venture.

"I have permits for the traps, but I kinda gave a different location for where I was going to drop them so no one would get tipped off to my spot."

"Ugh… Tell me again why I let you talk me into this?" Ty said with an exasperated sigh, staring out at the azure horizon as yet another of the region's numerous coastal islands came into view, wishing that he'd had the forethought to don his navy down jacket with the attached hood instead of the black one he'd automatically grabbed from the closet that morning. The calendar may have said that it was mid-April, but it was still quite frigid today – the air temperature barely over 40 degrees and even at their now slower speed, the salt laden sea spray stung his exposed skin. These lobsters better be worth it…

As he maneuvered the trawler closer to the shore of the tiny island, Will dug a set of binoculars out of his oversized tackle box and passed them over to his skeptical friend.

"Here – start looking for a buoy with a blue flag tied to it," Will instructed his friend, easing further back on the throttle as he brought the old boat down to a crawl, allowing it to bob with the waves.

"Blue flag?"

"Yep. I tied it myself so I could find my spot again."

"Okay," Ty shrugged. "Looking for a blue flag on a buoy." Ty took a step down from the trawler's pilot house and made his way out to the bow to get an unencumbered view then lifted the binoculars to his eyes, scanning the visible coastline of the island and the shallows that surrounded it. This side of Little Diamond was largely undeveloped – lots of grass covered marshes and plains, jagged rocky outcrops and stretches of completely deserted beaches. At least there weren't any other boats out here so perhaps this lobster hideaway wasn't a Will Henderson myth after all.

"We should be getting close…," Will shouted to him.

"Haven't seen any blue flags yet. Just one red and white buoy. You sure you tied the flag securely?" He responded just as loudly as he allowed his search to drift past that buoy, back to the coast.

"Yes – it was tied securely," was the snide response he got back from his friend. Ty snorted and laughed as he continued to scour the beach for signs of Will's flag, but the smirk faded from his face as he found himself completely unprepared for what he saw next…

"Damn! There's somebody out there!" Ty exclaimed loudly as he spied what appeared to be the crumpled shape of a person lying on the deserted beach.

"What?! What do you mean there's someone out there?" All Will could think of was that someone had found his secret fishing spot and he wasn't the least bit happy about it.

"There's someone on the beach," Ty insisted, hurrying back to the pilot house while pointing excitedly at the shore a few hundred yards away. "Can you move in closer to the shore so I can get a better look?"

"You're sure it's not a log like the last time?" Will teased. "If we call out Coast Guard Rescue for driftwood again, we'll be the laughing stock of Cumberland County…"

"That's not a piece of driftwood. I'm telling you that's a person and they look like they might be in trouble. Or maybe your sweet spot just isn't so secret after all…"

"Whatever," Will scoffed. "I can get within a few hundred feet of the shore, but we'll have to take the skiff in." He positioned the trawler as close to the beach as he could safely get as the bay became shallower, still not entirely convinced that Ty had seen a person out there, but he wasn't about to call anything in until he could verify that it really wasn't a log. "Give me those binoculars and go lower the skiff while I drop anchor."

Once the trawler was securely anchored off of the island, Will himself raised the binoculars and gazed out toward the stretch of beach Ty had indicated. It didn't take long for him to spot the exact figure Ty had located – and it most certainly wasn't a log. From this vantage point, the figure looked to be a man dressed all in black laying on his side in a near fetal position and he didn't appear to be moving at all. Probably asleep or dead - or maybe somewhere in between but there was no way to be certain until they reached the shore. He lowered the binoculars and stowed them back into his tackle box as he heard the distinctive splash of the fiberglass rowboat hitting the water and the solid thump of the rope ladder hitting the side of the boat. Time to go investigate.

It took the two men a few minutes to position the oars and row to shore and as they approached the beach, they hopped out in the ankle deep water thankful for thick insulated and waterproof boots to spare them the sting of the icy water. Then they dragged the little boat up onto the sand so it wouldn't drift away with the tide, noticing as they'd gotten closer to him that the mysterious person was certainly in trouble. The black denim jeans and dark leather coat that the man wore were both still damp, heavily coated with a layer of salt water residue and caked with sand as was the man's short, dark hair. A single, long tendril of seaweed was wrapped around his right ankle just above his bare foot while a black leather boot remained on his left.

"What the hell?" Will wondered as they cautiously moved closer to the unknown man.

"I told you I saw a person on the beach," Ty stated matter-of-factly. "He kinda looks dead. You think he's dead?"

"I don't know. He sure doesn't look good…," Will noted as he crouched down beside the at the very least unconscious man in black, fighting back a swell of nausea as he extended his hand toward the man's exposed neck intending to check for a pulse. The bluish tint of the man's lips and what appeared to be blood in the sand around him made him doubtful that he'd find any signs of life, but as he pressed his index and middle finger to the seemingly dead man's throat, he surprisingly found a slight pulsation. "He's alive, but just barely, I think."

"Is that blood?" Ty asked as he also noticed the dark stained sand beneath the man's body.

"I pretty sure it is. We've gotta get back to the trawler and radio for Rescue. Don't know how long this guy's been out here, but he won't last much longer once that tide comes in."

"What about your semi-legal traps out there?"

"We don't say anything about those," Will insisted. "We were just out scouting some fishing coves when we saw this guy." Will stood up and started back toward the skiff, picking up the tow line to drag it back into the shallows. "Come on – we've got to hurry!"

"Shouldn't one of us stay with him?" Ty wondered as he reluctantly shifted his weight toward the skiff. "I mean…"

"He's not going anywhere," Will assured him as he stepped back into the rowboat. "Stay if you want, but there really isn't a whole lot we can do for him. They're gonna have to send a rescue chopper out." Ty sighed and pondered his options for a moment, finally deciding to shrug off his down parka which he draped over the wounded man in an attempt to hopefully stave off hypothermia. He had a wool sweater and a long sleeved undershirt on underneath so he knew he wouldn't freeze to death, but if this guy had been exposed to both the icy water and the chilled air, he needed the parka more than Ty himself did.

"I'm staying. Can you bring me back one of your rain slickers when you return?"

"Sure," Will shouted as he began rowing the skiff toward the trawler. "Be back in a few!" It took him a tad longer to get back to the boat by himself, but having spent a lifetime around fishing boats, he knew exactly what he was doing as he tied off the tow line to the rope ladder to secure the skiff, then scurried up the ladder making his way back to the helm as quickly as he could, immediately tuning in the emergency channel on the radio. "Coast Guard Rescue, come in. This is the trawler Lady Lincoln in need of emergency assistance."

There were a few agonizing moments of static and silence while he awaited a response, but finally, the dispatcher's voice came across the speaker.

"Trawler Lady Lincoln, this is Coast Guard Rescue. What's the nature of your emergency? And please – not another log in distress…"

Will scowled in disgust knowing they'd likely never live that faux pas down, but now wasn't the time to argue.

"No logs this time, ma'am," he replied a bit defensively. "We found a wounded man lying on a beach on the eastern shore of Little Diamond. He'd clearly been in the water and he was pretty blue, but still alive."

"Is the victim conscious?"

"No, ma'am. There was a lot of blood around him too."

"We'll dispatch a rescue team immediately. Can you give me your present coordinates?" Will provided the details on his location from the trawler's GPS then went in search of the rain slicker he promised he'd bring back, locating one hanging on a hook steps away from the bridge. He'd learned to always keep one close since out here, weather could turn on you in an instant. He decided he should probably bring a blanket too as he yanked open the hatch to the trawler's lower compartment. He couldn't really call it a cabin because he spent little time down there, but he'd kept its tiny galley and berth stocked with supplies including a couple of cotton and wool blend blankets tucked away in the hold beneath the rarely used bunk. He tugged the slicker on over his parka and slung the blanket over his shoulder as he returned to the top deck then lowered himself down to the skiff yet again.

Wow, how this day had changed. He'd gone from the anticipation of pulling up loaded lobster traps to suddenly trying to save the life of an injured stranger they'd encountered. They knew nothing about this man except that he was hurt and probably nearly drowned. For all they knew, they could be helping to rescue a serial killer, but he knew Ty would never be able to live with himself it he left someone out here to die, so here they were. It was the right call to make and deep down inside, he knew it - even if it was an inconvenience. Talk about being in the wrong place at the right time… Or was it the right place at the wrong time?

 _Portland, Maine Medical Center – Appx 40 min later_

The crowded Portland Memorial Medical Center emergency room had been bustling all morning and well into the afternoon as victims of an overturned bus on Interstate 295 were treated for various injuries. Thankfully, only two had been exceptionally serious but the ER staff hadn't had much of a break between patients even before the alert came in that a Coast Guard Rescue helicopter was enroute with critical patient. Being the only Level One Trauma center in the area made for a lot of busy, stress filled days since the only alternative was an even longer flight to Boston.

As ER attending physician Dr. Rami Chaudry made his way up to the helipad to meet the Rescue unit, he reviewed the sketchy information that had been provided by dispatch. So far, all they really knew was that the victim was male, estimated to be in his mid-thirties. He had been found unconscious on one of the coastal islands less than an hour ago, showed signs of submersion in salt water, consistent with near drowning and had a deep puncture wound through his torso – entering through his back just below the rib cage and to the right of his spine. It was an unusual combination that likely meant foul play was involved and since the victim had been found off shore, it would fall under Cumberland County Sheriff jurisdiction so he knew they'd be speaking with one of their deputies at some point. Right now though, Dr. Chaudry just wanted to make his own assessment of the patient who was being unloaded from the helicopter onto a gurney for transport downstairs. He waited until the Coast Guard medics were within earshot as the rotors slowly powered down to a level where his voice would be heard.

"What have you brought for me today?" he called out to one of the medics he recognized as Lieutenant Dixon, a veteran with nearly a decade of service on the rescue unit. He knew the medic would repeat most of the information the dispatcher had already supplied, but he could now discern more of the detail.

"Unknown male – No ID found on him. Couple of fishermen found him approximately an hour ago. Clothing was still damp from salt water immersion and body temperature was at 94.6 when we arrived. It's still hovering right around 95 degrees so still hypothermic. Mild signs of cyanosis on the extremities so we intubated enroute in an attempt to get oxygen levels up."

"What about the dorsal puncture wound?" the doctor asked as the gurney was rolled into the elevator where he could finally get a closer look at his newest patient.

"Appears to have been made with a sharp, narrow blade – long enough though that it punctured clean through his torso. Angle suggests high likelihood of liver damage and possible perforation of the diaphragm," Lt. Dixon explained, now able to lower his voice as the elevator doors closed.

"So we have no idea who he is or how he ended up out there?" Dr. Chaudry asked aloud, although mostly to himself as he took mental note of the details. Not only were the victim's clothes damp, but so was his hair with clumps of sand still matted into it suggesting that it hadn't been long since the victim had exited the water. A swollen and darkening bruise beneath his right eye along with a split open bottom lip suggested that their victim had been involved in some sort of altercation prior to ending up in the water, although the possibility existed that he could have struck something in the water. He carefully raised the victim's right hand, trying not to disturb the IV line the medics had placed there but needing a closer inspection of the abrasions across the man's knuckles – again another likely indicator of an altercation, but not definitive. "Definitely seeing signs of a struggle of some sort," he said, eyeing the three potentially valuable white gold or platinum rings that his patient sported on his thumb, index and ring fingers. "By the look of these though, it doesn't seem like a robbery gone bad…"

"Oh, that's not the strangest part," Dixon spoke up as the doors parted outside of the Emergency department. "Our victim is an amputee. His left hand is a prosthetic and not like one I've ever seen before…" The medic raised the victim's left arm, which possessed what at first glance would appear as a gloved hand, but as Dixon peeled back the black leather of the glove, beneath was a rigid carved wooden hand which was attached to some sort of leather base adorned with brass studs. The base itself was then housed within a clearly custom made leather cuff that was decorated with a series of straps and silver buckles that were fastened tightly to secure the prosthetic to the man's forearm. "It's the most unique prosthetic I've ever seen…"

"It's definitely not like anything that has come through my ER before," Dr. Chaudry agreed, "but right now, it's the least of my concern. I'm sure it will be relevant to help identify him later, but first, we focus on saving his life."


	2. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Now that you have a pretty good idea of who was found on that beach, the drama begins. As I've mentioned before on other stories, I'm not in the medical field so while a lot of research goes into trying to make these descriptions accurate, please allow for some liberal artistic freedom for the story's purpose. This chapter also introduces an important character that I created exclusively for this story and you'll be learning more about them as we go on._

 _Monday Morning, Storybrooke_

She had attempted two tracking potions already, but each had only provided the same result which brought her back here to the harbor front. How was this supposed to be helping her locate her husband when she'd already known that Killian had sailed out of this very harbor just after dawn yesterday on the Jolly Roger? It was when he hadn't returned by sundown as promised that Emma had begun to worry and now, after a full night had passed with no contact, she'd found herself resorting to magic in an attempt to discern his whereabouts.

Only magic wasn't getting her very far.

Killian went out sailing by himself all the time. He was obviously an experienced captain and knew exactly what he was doing. The weather yesterday morning had been perfect so there didn't seem to be any reasonable explanation for his delay. It wasn't that he'd never been late before – this was Storybrooke after all so just living here could provide a legitimate excuse, but he had been gone all night and hadn't even attempted to call – although would he even have cell service out at sea? Her mind was left reeling. Maybe there had been a freak storm or maybe the ship had suffered some damage but she'd never know if she couldn't get a hold of him. Her calls to his phone kept going straight to voicemail and attempts to track the phone's GPS signal had failed as well, returning an "Out of Service Area" message – both of which were increasing her concerns for her husband's welfare. Had he managed to get himself in trouble yet again? She couldn't help him if she couldn't find him…

And now, her second attempt with the tracking potion had failed, leaving her flustered as she sat down on the side of the pier, feet dangling over the water as she forced herself to think, almost ready to yield to defeat. Even if she had the slightest inkling that he might allow her, she couldn't even use Gold's globe to search for Killian because she didn't have a drop of his blood to activate it. Had his younger half brother, Liam, been in port she could use his blood as they at least shared part of the same DNA, but the Nautilus had left weeks ago leaving no means to contact the submarine for assistance. She'd resigned herself to the knowledge that she would have to rely on her wits and tap into her old, non-magical tracking prowess to succeed, but she needed somewhere other than Storybrooke harbor to begin.

It shouldn't have surprised her that her son would be the first to come in search of her. He had witnessed the distraught expression in his mother's eyes when Killian hadn't returned last evening and likely had been just as aware of her restless, sleepless night. Hell, the teen was probably just as worried himself that there had been no word from his stepfather, but his present concern was his mother's well-being.

"Still no sign of him?" Henry asked as he plopped down on the pier beside her.

"Nothing yet, kid," Emma sighed, staring out to the horizon where the azure sea met the crystal blue sky, each unfortunate reminders of the sapphire eyes she was missing so much.

"And the tracking potion?"

"Brought me right back here again."

"Still no GPS signal from his phone either?" Henry was trying everything he could think of.

"No," she replied, the dejected tone in her voice evident. "Last I checked, it was still showing out of service area – whatever that's supposed to mean…"

"So he's either in an area with no signal or he turned the phone off?"

"Or the battery died…or he broke it… Lots of possibilities but none of this is going to help find him…"

"Maybe I can convince Grandpa to let you use that globe thing that he used to find my dad?"

"Nice try, but I've already had to rule that one out because we'd need a drop of Killian's blood or at least the blood of someone related to him like his brother, Liam. Unless you know a way to contact the Nautilus, it won't do us any good. But it was a good thought." It pained her to see the smile fading from her son's face as he ran out of suggestions. She had even entertained the thought of chartering a helicopter to have the pilot scour the coastline of the entire state in search of the ship, but if her pirate had it cloaked using Cora's old spell, that would be a failure too. "I know he's alive," she finally said aloud, hoping to somehow reassure them both. "I can feel him, but I just wish I knew where he was…"

"We'll find him, Mom. Nothing has ever kept the two of you apart for long before so I know you'll find him. Like Grandpa says – it's what our family does."

"It sure is," she replied, letting her spirits lift, even if it might have only been for a fleeting moment. "We'll have to go take another look at the clues we have and see if we can get something to turn up."

 _Portland, ME Medical Center_

It was just past 9AM when Dr. Chaudry arrived for his next twelve hour shift in the emergency room, but this morning he had specifically arrived early to check in on his mystery patient from yesterday and to meet with Cumberland County Deputy Sheriff Aaron McCallen – whom the doctor had already been informed was awaiting him to ask questions about patient John Doe. He'd intended to follow up on the intriguing patient when his shift ended yesterday, but their John Doe had been in the operating room where surgeons had been painstakingly attempting to repair the extensive damage to his liver and the puncture wound to his diaphragm. Thankfully for this young man, whatever he'd been impaled with had narrowly missed any major blood vessels or he would have bled out long before he washed up on the beach. Dr. Chaudry had left a message for the surgeon to provide an update and had seen the reply this morning that their patient had made it through surgery as well as could be expected, but his prognosis was still questionable. There had been less fluid in the man's lungs than they'd suspected, but his compromised diaphragm was making breathing difficult, so they'd decided to keep him intubated while they continued efforts to maintain his body temperature which had been fluctuating since he'd arrived. The only fortunate side effect of the hypothermia he'd sustained was that it may have slowed his circulation just enough to prevent him from bleeding to death, but there was no real way to ascertain just how much damage had been done until John Doe regained consciousness.

The doctor briefly checked in with the nurse's station to obtain the patient's chart, quickly glancing over the updates noted since his emergency team had handed their patient over to the surgical team yesterday afternoon. All of this new information would be vital so he could provide the deputy with the proper details. The handwritten transcript informed him that the surgery hadn't gone without a few challenges including that the patient had coded once, but was successfully resuscitated. His blood pressure had dropped dangerously low on several occasions and even the most recent readings were still rather low – although not uncommon for hypothermic victims. The hypothermia itself was now being treated through gradual warming with IV fluids and thermal wraps and John Doe's current body temperature was listed just under 97 degrees – still below normal, but greatly improved.

He tucked the clipboard under his arm and carried it with him into the patient's room through the already opened door, discovering that he wasn't the only person present. A young blond haired man in a tan uniform whom he presumed was Deputy McCallen was already at work photographing and documenting the victim's injuries as well as potentially identifiable features such as tattoos, birthmarks or in this man's case, his stumped left arm. The shift lead nurse, a no-nonsense redhead named Jackie who'd been around here probably as long as Dr. Chaudry himself had – something close to forever - stood off to the side, allowing the deputy to do what he needed to do while still ensuring her patient's privacy and safety. She had also brought in all of John Doe's clothing and personal effects which had been collected and bagged as evidence since there was a very high probability that their mystery patient had been the victim of a crime.

"Deputy McCallen, I presume?" Dr. Chaudry asked at the same time that the deputy snapped a photograph of the victim's bruised face. The deep violet discoloration was even more prominent this morning, especially under the right eye – very likely the result of a collision with someone's fist the doctor theorized from years of ER experience.

"Yes," the young man replied with a smile while taking a few more photos. "Sorry, Doctor. I'll be done here in just a moment. I figured I'd get all of the documentation that the Sheriff wanted while I was waiting to talk to you. You're Doctor Chaudry, right? The doctor who was attending in the ER when our John Doe was flown in?"

"That was me. I expected someone would have been out yesterday though."

"Most of our department got tied up helping out the State Police yesterday with that big bus accident so unfortunately, our unknown victim here got back-burnered 'til today, but I promise, this case is getting my full attention today."

"Well then, why don't you finish up what you need to do and meet me over at the nurse's station?"

"Sounds good. Thank you, Doctor. I just need to get a brief statement," the deputy stated as he began reviewing all of the photographs he'd taken on his department issued smart phone, then emailed the file to himself so he'd have the entire file accessible as soon as he got back to the station. Once he'd verified that the email had been sent, he collected the two evidence bags that the nurse had placed on the counter to the left of the door. The first was a large paper one with its top folded down and stapled closed that per the inventory list contained the victim's clothing and his unique prosthetic that McCallen had heard about but had yet to actually set eyes on. The second was a smaller clear plastic zip top bag that held the smaller personal items which included three large, heavy rings and a silver pendant with skull and dagger charms. He signed the chain of custody form the nurse presented to him to confirm that he'd officially taken possession of the evidence, then pocketed the plastic bag before picking up the paper one. "I'll meet you right outside, Dr. Chaudry."

"Give me five minutes with my patient and I'll be right over," the doctor insisted as the deputy departed the room.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Nurse Jackie apologized. "I should have had the deputy wait until you'd arrived."

"It's alright. He has an important job to do as well, especially since we're trying to identify this gentleman here. How is our patient this morning?" His gaze took in the man laying silently the raised bed before him. A heavy thermal blanket was wrapped about the patient's upper body leaving only his head and hand exposed to provide access to the IV line and a matching blanket covered him from the waist down. He was in an upright, almost sitting position to help drain the fluid from his lungs and hopefully stave off pneumonia. His raised torso would also help his lungs function more efficiently by taking some of the pressure off of his diaphragm while it healed and of course while the ventilator did much of the work.

"He's been stable since I came on shift at seven," the nurse replied. "No real change since he was brought up from recovery last night. BP is still low. Still unresponsive to stimuli. Dr. Wallace is attending today and her primary concern was getting his temperature back up to normal."

"Thank you. I don't generally follow up with the multitude of patients that come through my ER, but this one has me intrigued," Dr. Chaudry admitted while taking another glance at the various monitors showing the patient's vital signs then lowering his eyes so they landed on John Doe's face. The man was well groomed – his short, dark coffee brown hair was neatly trimmed as was his auburn tinged facial hair. The likelihood that he was homeless or a drifter seemed very low and the jewelry that he'd been wearing would suggest some wealth yet his entire body was a veritable roadmap of old silvered scars – most notably those on what remained of his left wrist. The ragged scars there suggested that the loss of his hand had been a violent event with the skin being haphazardly sewn closed. This man's body seemingly had a multitude of stories to tell. If only it could tell them his name… "It seems as though he should have family out there missing him…"

"Hopefully, the deputy's investigation will be able to find them," Jackie offered. "Or that he'll regain consciousness soon and be able to tell us who to reach out to."

"Hopefully. I don't typically feel this way about patients who come through the ER, but I for one would like to find out just who our John Doe really is," he stated before deciding it was time to go speak to the deputy.

 _Cumberland County Sheriff's Department, Monday Afternoon_

He kept staring at the monitor with its cursor blinking in front of him as though he were willing it to provide him even one answer. Multiple local, national and even international databases had returned zero matches to John Doe's fingerprints. This man had either spent the entirety of his lifetime off of the grid or he simply didn't exist. Nothing in the criminal database or from the DMV – not in Maine or any other state. No bank account or recorded military service. Not so much as a partial match and this latest enigma was frustrating Deputy McCallen more than the mystery he still had to solve to figure how the man had ended up on a Little Diamond Island beach.

He'd earlier sent out photographs of the tattoos on the unknown man's back and right forearm, but so far, none of the local shops recognized the artwork. One artist did state that most of the work appeared to be very old as the ink was no longer as vibrant and sharp as it may once have been – either that or it was amateur work, but neither bit of information was of much use to the deputy at this time. Their victim was still relatively young – late thirties at the most so how could these be old tattoos? More likely to be amateur work, but that was still merely speculation and not useful in identification.

His attention kept returning to the jewelry though. John Doe had been found wearing three rings – one simple white gold or platinum band and two larger, very distinctive ones that were so intricately detailed that they seemed like something to be found in a museum, not items that a person would typically choose for everyday wear. In fact, they bore a striking resemblance to rings worn by the lead character in a recent movie he'd watched about pirates in the late 18th century – an odd coincidence considering the skull and dagger that the man had been sporting on a chain around his neck. The medic's report had also mentioned that the victim had been found wearing a black leather moto styled jacket, but their victim looked far too clean cut to be the biker type. Not to mention how difficult it would be for him to handle a motorcycle with only one hand – not impossible - but it just didn't seem to fit. No, John Doe probably wasn't a biker, but perhaps he fancied himself to be some sort of modern day pirate? Nothing would surprise him at this point…

"Still no match for our John Doe's prints?" a voice asked from behind the flustered deputy. McCallen straightened himself and turned to see his boss, Cumberland County Sheriff Jack Lassiter standing just over his shoulder reading the NO MATCH message flashing on the computer screen.

"Afraid not, sir," the deputy replied with an audible sigh. "I've tried every database I can think of – DMV, AFIS, Interpol even – all negative. This guy is like a ghost… Oh, and I've checked in with the hospital, the victim is still unconscious so we still won't able to ask him what his name is any time soon."

"Maybe we should put some generic information out to the local media and see if they can help us out by getting something worked into the evening newscast? Maybe it would help by getting a plea out to the public to help identify John Doe?" the sheriff suggested.

"What do you want me to say? If we're treating this as an assault or attempted murder, we don't want to reveal too much. That could send whoever attacked him back to finish the job."

"What do you think would be something that his family or friends would recognize that his assailant might not?" the sheriff wondered, glancing over the stack of photographs on McCallen's desk.

"The jewelry," McCallen replied without hesitation, thumbing through the photos to locate the one he'd taken of the evidence bag at the hospital. "The jewelry the man was wearing was very ornate and really unique. I'm certain it's something his family would be able to identify, but the person who stabbed him probably didn't get a close enough look at it or you would have thought they'd have taken it along with his wallet…"

"Great idea, McCallen. See if they'll put together a brief story mentioning John Doe being found unconscious on a beach and have them run that photo," the sheriff pointed at the image of the evidence baggie. "It's after four now, so they might not be able to get it into the upcoming broadcast for the five or six o'clock news, but maybe they can get it into the eleven?"

"I'll see what I can do, sir," the deputy stated with a wide grin on his face, proud of himself for realizing that the jewelry would be a great identifier.

"Oh, and McCallen, while you're on the phone, give Sergeant Haviland at Portland P.D. a call. There's a possibility that they might have gotten a hit on the photo you send to local authorities for facial recognition."

"Really? That was a long shot…"

"They're not sure, but Haviland thinks that our John Doe might have factored into a robbery turned hostage situation yesterday morning."

"Our victim might have somehow been involved in their robbery case?"

"They only have a low-quality security camera video from the store to work with – and they had to find a VHS cassette player just to review the tape, but he said it seems to show our John Doe's face."

"They think he could have been one of the perps?"

"No – he was one of the hostages," Sheriff Lassiter stated, giving this John Doe's case yet another interesting turn that might finally shed some light on how he'd ended up on that island. "If you can verify that it is the same man, we'll have to get an officer on the victim's hospital room."

"I'll get right on it, sir."

Just over a half an hour later, Deputy McCallen had gotten promises from two local television stations that they would run a brief story on John Doe and would post the photograph of his jewelry on their social media sites. The more information they could get out to the public, the better their chance that someone would see the photo and recognize those rings and pendant, hopefully allowing them to give John Doe his identity back without having to release his actual photo and potentially tip off his attacker that he had survived. The deputy had also spoken to his law enforcement colleague, Sgt. Haviland of the Portland P.D. who had taken the time to email him a copy of the security camera video that their lab had converted to a digital file from the grainy VHS tape. The sergeant was heading home for the evening but promised McCallen that he would follow up in the morning to find out if the hostage from the video was their unknown victim.

McCallen should have been on his way home as well but he didn't want to wait to have a look at that video himself so he opened up the file attachment and settled back in his chair to watch the approximately six and a half minute long clip. The images were black and white and we're only a little bit fuzzy considering their source. Surprisingly – and thankfully – they were clear enough to make out the individuals involved. At the beginning of the video, two apparent male figures each wearing ski masks seemed to be shouting at a woman with light, probably blonde hair while waving a gun at her. The man matching the physical description of their John Doe stepped between the armed men and the woman, but at this point, his back was to the camera. The image wasn't quite clear enough to make out the detail of the man's clothing but it appears to be consistent with the leather jacket and jeans their victim had been wearing.

It was a little difficult to follow what was going on in as there was no sound on the video, but the dark haired man with his back to the camera seemed to be trying to negotiate with the criminals and a few minutes into the video clip, one of the masked men stuck his hand into one of the dark haired man's coat pockets and brought out an object that couldn't be seen from the camera angle but it was clearly something that caught their attention because the actions of the two armed men changed at this point. They no longer seemed to have any interest in the blonde woman who McCallen figured was probably the store's owner. They were solely focused on the man and the conversation they were having abruptly shifted, becoming more physical as one of them punched the dark haired man, eventually shoving him toward the door and as they made their exit, the face of the dark haired man in the leather jacket appeared on camera for the first time. It was less swollen and bruised, but clearly a match for John Doe lying in that hospital bed across town.

Cumberland County's John Doe found yesterday on a beach on the shore of Little Diamond Island had hours earlier been taken hostage at gunpoint by two masked, armed men at a little mom and pop convenience store along Portland's waterfront. If the time stamp on the video was to be believed, it put the time of the robbery at just before 11AM. Coast Guard Rescue had reported receiving their call at 1:46PM. Somehow in a span of roughly two and three quarters hours, their John Doe had gotten from the city harbor out to a sparsely populated coastal island where he'd nearly drowned and been stabbed in the back in the process. And it was those missing hours that further enhanced this mystery.

Who was this guy and just what the hell actually happened to him yesterday morning?

The video file ended and McCallen closed out the program, preparing to sign out of his computer for the evening but before he did, he picked up the receiver of the department phone on his desk and dialed the number for the nurse's station at Portland Medical Center hoping for an update but knowing that he was going to be calling the Sheriff next to get authorization for a deputy to be placed outside of John Doe's room since he'd now identified him as the victim of a crime. He'd worry about jurisdiction battles with Portland P.D. tomorrow.

"Yes – this is Deputy Aaron McCallen from the Cumberland County Sheriff's Department. I'm calling to check on the status of the John Doe patient who came in yesterday…" There was a short pause as he awaited the response, discouraged but not surprised by the answer he got. "No change since this afternoon then…? OK, thanks… Please call me if there are any changes – especially if he wakes. Doesn't matter what time… Oh, and if you would, please connect me to your Security team. We're going to need to set up a guard on John Doe's room…"

He spent a few minutes talking to the head of Security for the hospital who agreed to place one of their armed guards at the door until a deputy arrived to take over then McCallen called the Sheriff and explained all they'd learned that evening. Sheriff Lassiter promised to pull a deputy from patrol and send them over to the hospital right away. This case had suddenly taken on a new urgency. Once all of his calls were made, the young deputy placed the receiver back into its cradle and finished powering off his computer. In the morning, he would have to meet with Sgt. Haviland to find out more about the robbery investigation because now they were definitely investigating two pieces of the same crime. Maybe discovering what they'd learned about the robbery would help lead to some answers about their mysterious victim and hopefully the news media reports would generate some solid new leads about John Doe's identity as well.

But for right now, the exhausted deputy was going to have to call it a night.


	3. Chapter Two

_Tuesday Morning, Storybrooke Sheriff's Office_

David Nolan sat anxiously at his temporary desk, having promised his daughter that he'd help out with some of the duties at the station until Killian was found. Distraught as she was, Emma had once again turned to busy work to keep her mind occupied – leaving behind piles of paperwork which were now scattered across the desk before him. There were reports that needed to be uploaded and filed, bills that needed to be paid, bills that had already been paid, numerous pages of case notes that probably needed updating and one pile that the Prince had simply labeled miscellaneous crap. He really was trying his best to help her out, but his mind just wasn't focused on the task any more than Emma's would have been. He knew she was heartbroken. He knew she hadn't gone home last night, probably crashing on the sofa in the back office here at the station or perhaps camping out in her car parked down at the harbor so she could watch for any sign of the Jolly Roger should it drift into port.

The pirate had been missing for two full days now without any contact and the entire family was searching for anything that might provide a clue as to what had happened to him. He knew she'd tried several tracking spells that had failed and had attempted to ping the GPS locator on his phone, but that hadn't been successful either. The phone hadn't even registered a connection to a tower since he'd left Storybrooke - which wasn't entirely surprising out on the open ocean. He would have to be close enough to land and to a large enough population area to get a signal – and that was assuming he was still even in this realm. David, like the rest of her family, was attempting to remain positive, but he knew that there were grumblings around town fearing the worst. He knew he had to be a pillar of support for his daughter – remind her of their family motto – we always find each other. If Killian Jones was still alive out there somewhere, they would indeed find him.

He just had to keep those positive thoughts as he turned his attention back to the mess on his desk, eyeing the largest pile – his aptly named "crap" pile which was a jumbled mess of forms, receipts, faxes and stuff that Emma had printed out for one unknown reason or another. Most of this was just junk that could have been thrown out and that was something that David should have been doing but instead, when Emma walked in through the front door around 8:30am, she caught her father sailing a paper airplane toward a metal trash can placed under the front window and based on the wreckage of multiple aircraft littering the floor around the can, most of his flights hadn't reached their destination.

"Sorry," David smiled sheepishly, his entire face instantly flush with embarrassment that he'd been caught engaging in such childish behavior. He quickly crumpled the folded paper in his hands and dropped it carefully into the closest trash receptacle while she merely rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I guess I got a little distracted – and a little carried away…"

"I hope those weren't made from anything important," she scolded as he sulked over to the window to scoop up the rest of his crashed fleet and deposit all of the carnage into the wastebasket.

"Just a bunch of random junk. I don't even know why you kept some of this stuff…"

"I don't know," she sighed as she slowly made her way toward her office. "You can deal with the rest of that later. It doesn't need to be done today…"

"Okay," he replied, noting the defeated tone to her voice. "It's been a slow morning so far so I'll just get it done and out of your way."

"If you want," she offered, but clearly paperwork was far from her mind. "I'm going to grab a cup of coffee and then check in with the cell phone company again to see if they've managed to locate Killian's phone today."

"I'm sure something will turn up soon," he tried to encourage her, but in the back of his mind, he knew that was likely to be a fruitless effort as well so he simply left his statement at that.

She fetched her silver travel mug from atop her desk and made her way over to the coffee pot, thankful that her father had remembered to turn it on and brew the first pot of the day before he'd begun piloting paper airplanes around the squad room. She didn't really fault him though, she thought as she filled the insulated mug and snapped the lid back onto it, delicately taking her first sip and offering her dad a faint smile of approval that it was palatable. Mug in hand, she strolled back to her desk and plopped herself down onto her chair, letting it spin slightly while she attempted to relax her mind. If only that was as simple as twirling around in an office chair…

She'd scarcely had time to press the power button on the desktop computer when a shout came from the station's front door as it swung open widely.

"Mom! Mom!" Henry shouted at the top of his lungs as he allowed the door to slam closed behind him. He was clearly out of breath, his face beet red as though he'd just run the entire length of Main Street. Wondering what the emergency might be, both David and Emma sprang to their feet at the boy's sudden arrival.

"Henry? Whoa… Where's the fire?" David wondered. "Shouldn't you be at school by now?" His grandson barely acknowledged him, darting past the prince into his mother's office.

"I agree – why aren't you in school?" Emma asked, awaiting her son's response, quite curious as to what this outburst might be about.

"I was getting ready for school this morning," Henry began, breathlessly panting through every word. "I turned on the morning news while I was eating breakfast as part of a homework assignment on current events and I caught a piece of a story they were running about a man they were attempting to identify… A picture flashed onto the screen, and although I didn't really get a good look at it, something about it was very familiar…"

"Okay, kid, slow down and take a breath," she said, still awaiting the actual answer to her question. "Is there a point to this because if there isn't, you really need to get to class…?"

"There's definitely a point, Mom. I went to their website to see if I could find the whole photo because I was curious – and Mom, you really need to see it! Open up Channel 7's website – and click on the Local News link…"

"Channel 7 is a Portland station, right?" David queried, joining his daughter and grandson in the office while Emma humored the teen and typed the website address into her browser. When the page opened on the screen, Henry pointed to the hyperlink tab for Local News from their banner and she clicked on it. As the next webpage opened, she could already see the headline that Henry wanted her to find: _Cumberland County Authorities Seeking Assistance in Identifying Comatose Man_.

"That one," Henry stabbed his index finger toward the line of text on her screen. "Click on it. You'll see why…" Emma begrudgingly clicked on the story headline which opened a video clip from the previous night's newscast. The station's female anchor, stern yet professional, displayed little emotion as she read the story from her teleprompter:

 _In other local news, the Cumberland County Sheriff's Department is currently seeking the public's assistance to help them identify a man found yesterday afternoon on one of Portland's coastal islands. The man was carrying no identification, but he was found wearing some rather unique jewelry that authorities are hoping would be recognizable to his family and friends. This man may be a victim of a crime, so at the present time, we are unable to relay any photographs of him, but the Sheriff's Department has supplied us with a close-up photograph of the rings and pendant worn by their John Doe. If you recognize any of the items in this picture, please contact the Cumberland County Sheriff at the phone number listed on your screen._

A full screen photograph was then displayed with a phone number embedded into the bottom of the image causing Emma's jaw to immediately gape open. The items shown were unmistakable: three men's rings and a pendant featuring a skull and dagger.

"Those are Killian's!" she gasped, now instantly having part of the answer as to why her husband hadn't returned. He was apparently lying unconscious somewhere in Portland and no one there had any idea who he was. "Henry – thank you!" She exclaimed, reaching for the phone receiver and rapidly dialing the number shown on her computer monitor where she'd paused the video.

"Cumberland County Sheriff. How may we be of assistance?" the female voice of a dispatcher answered.

"Good morning. My name is Emma Jones and I'm Sheriff here in the town of Storybrooke, Maine. I need to speak with whoever is handling the John Doe case that was profiled on last night's news."

"Do you have information regarding the case, Sheriff?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. It's highly likely that your John Doe might be my missing husband. The jewelry in the photograph from the newscast was what he was wearing when he left here two days ago."

"I see…," the dispatcher continued. "So that we can be certain that this isn't someone simply fishing for information, would you be able to provide a description of your husband? We've had quite a few prank calls already this morning…"

Emma knew the drill. They had to be certain she was legit. "Sure – I understand. He's 5 foot 11 with short, dark brown hair and blue eyes. He has numerous scars including a diagonal one across his right cheek and several tattoos, but his most obvious feature is that he's missing his left hand. Does that match the description you've got there?"

"Thank you, Sheriff. It sure does," the woman stated, now convinced that this was no prank call. "Let me get you through to Deputy McCallen. He's the primary on this case."

"Thanks," Emma replied as the dispatcher put her on hold for a moment, then she heard the sound of the phone ringing again as she was connected to a different number.

"This is Deputy McCallen," a new voice answered. "My dispatcher tells me you can identify our John Doe. She said your description was a definite match to our victim."

"Hello, Deputy McCallen. I don't know if your dispatcher told you but my name is Emma and those rings and the pendant from the photograph belong to my husband, Killian Jones. He went out sailing two days ago and hadn't returned."

"Killian Jones you say? We've tried everything to identify him but we couldn't find a record of his fingerprints anywhere."

"Yes, I know. That's a very long story… Would you happen to have a photograph of your John Doe's face just so that I can verify that it is definitely my husband?"

"I can email or text you one. Which would you prefer, Sheriff?" Emma quickly rattled off her cell phone number and seconds later, a notification popped up. She immediately clicked the file to open the attached photo, taking in a deep breath as her eyes fell on the bruised and swollen face of her husband. What the hell had happened for him to end up like this and hours south of Storybrooke?

"That's Killian," she replied with a sigh, relieved to finally know where he was, but with a renewed concern for his welfare because she had no idea what circumstances had led to this current predicament. "I don't know how on earth he ended up on one of your islands down there, but I'm so happy to know he's been found. I can be down there in about two hours if you'd have time to meet me and discuss the case?"

"I'll be more than happy to make time to meet with you, Sheriff. Why don't I meet you at Portland Medical Center downtown where they're treating your husband? I'm sure you're anxious to be reunited with him, although just to let you know, as of this morning, he still hasn't awakened. I'll call over and let them know you're on your way and of course that he's no longer a John Doe."

"Thank you, Deputy McCallen. I'll see you in a couple of hours," she stated as she hung up the telephone.

"So your pirate turned up in Portland?" David asked as Emma pushed away from the desk and stood up, tugging on her jacket while fishing her keys out of the pocket of her jeans.

"Looks that way. I'm going to run by the house and pick up a few things. Sounds like I might have to be down there for a few days. Think you can handle taking over Sheriff duties again for a while?"

"I've got things handled here. Go take care of your husband." David insisted.

"I think I saw the evidence of how well things were being 'handled' earlier…," she teased, directing a thumb toward the trash can while she playfully shook her head. "I'll call you as soon as I know more."

"Can I come with you?" Henry asked as he followed his mother out of the station toward her battered old Volkswagen beetle.

"That's probably not a good idea," she replied as she pulled open the driver's door. "You have school and honestly, I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Please, Mom? I'm worried too and you could use the company…"

"Henry, until we know more, I think you should stay here. Besides, I don't need Regina getting upset with me over you missing school again. Let me find out what's going on and maybe we can work out something for you to visit later this week?"

"Okay…," he sulked as Emma climbed into the car. "I better get to school then…" Emma felt a little pang of guilt over the pained expression on her son's face but until she knew what was going on with Killian, it really was for the best that he stayed behind.

 _Portland Medical Center – two hours later_

Of course, she really should have known better. Henry was far more like her than she ever wanted to admit and the boy had decided to sneak into the back seat of the Bug while Emma was inside the house packing a bag with clothing and necessities. She'd nearly run off the road when his head popped up in her rear view mirror as she'd turned into the highway. She almost turned the car around and took him back to Storybrooke but not wanting to make Deputy McCallen wait, she scolded him for disobeying and forced him to call Regina to explain his actions as soon as they reached the interstate. Stubbornness certainly was a Charming family trait… Regina agreed to let him stay the night, but stated she was coming to Portland to pick him up tomorrow since Emma had enough to worry about and the Queen was right - Emma herself was focused on just getting to Portland, disobeying more than a few speed limits during her drive south and she managed to arrive at the medical center ahead of Deputy McCallen.

She checked in at the reception desk to get visitor's badges for each of them although it took the receptionist a few moments to locate the room information as Killian's name hadn't yet been entered into the hospital's directory. He was still listed officially as John Doe, but his electronic file contained a note that Deputy McCallen had advised that the patient's wife would be arriving. The young lady then directed Emma to the sixth floor – room 627 – and advised her to ask for Jackie, the head nurse for that unit. Emma thanked her and as they made their way to the bank of elevators on the left, Henry gave her a reassuring pat on the back, trying to ensure that his mother kept a positive attitude. They'd found Killian and everything was going to be fine soon. She knew exactly what he was trying to express so as they rode up in the elevator, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and while neither spoke a word, their intentions were clear.

Mother and son stepped out of the elevator when the doors parted on the sixth floor, searching for signage that would tell them which way to head. Henry spotted the placard on the wall first which displayed an arrow indicating that rooms 615-630 were to their left. Passing through a set of automatic glass doors, they arrived at a short corridor that led into a U shaped section of patient rooms surrounding a central desk. Each room in this unit had floor to ceiling glass windows with privacy curtains on the inside which could be drawn as needed but otherwise gave the nurses a clear view into each patient room. It took merely a quick glance around for Emma to determine that the only room with an armed guard seated outside was likely the one they were headed to, but she figured it would probably be best to introduce herself first rather than head straight into her husband's room.

"I'm looking for a patient of yours – Killian Jones?" Emma asked hesitantly as she approached the young nurse seated at the desk. "I'm his wife…"

"I'm sorry…," the nurse stammered, slightly startled by Emma's arrival. "You said Jones?" she asked as she scanned her list of patient names, not finding a match.

"Yes, Jones, but until earlier this morning, you had him listed as a John Doe… found on a beach a couple of days ago?"

"Oh!" the nurse exclaimed, a little embarrassed at the oversight. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Jones. We just received that notification about an hour ago so I do apologize that I hadn't yet associated his real name. He's in room 627 – right behind me."

"Thank you. I was told I should also ask for Jackie? Is that you?" Emma wondered.

"Jackie is my supervisor. She's been the one primarily in charge of your husband's care during the day shift with Colleen filling in at night. I'm certain she would like to speak to you about his condition. Let me page her..."

"Thanks. I'm not going to have any issues with getting past him, am I?" Emma asked, aiming her thumb in the direction of the armed guard seated just to the right of the door to room 627.

"Not at all. The Sheriff's deputy phoned this morning so we've been expecting you. Again, I'm sorry about the confusion with the name and all…"

The privacy curtains had been drawn across the windows to Killian's room so Emma couldn't yet see inside to get even a brief peek at her wounded husband. She managed a polite smile as the guard nodded to her when she pushed open the door, still slightly reluctant to enter. Even with Killian having been identified as a deputy sheriff, she was surprised to see a guard positioned at his door. There was a clear concern for his welfare and she was formulating a mental list of all of the questions she'd have to ask Deputy McCallen when he arrived, but for the moment, she let the butterflies in her stomach take over as she stepped through the doorway, the image from the photograph McCallen had shared earlier still clear in her memory. If she'd been aware that she'd been holding her breath, she might not have allowed the little gasp to escape her lips when she at last was able to see him with her own eyes. The marginal bit of information she'd been given before leaving Storybrooke simply hadn't been enough to prepare.

She hadn't expected to see him positioned on the narrow bed nearly sitting upright with a heavy blanket draped around his shoulders and chest like a cape. Only his hand and a few inches of his wrist were left exposed most likely due to the IV line that was taped there. A second matching blanket was draped over the lower half of his body which made her wonder if his body temperature was a concern. It was April in Maine after all and since she knew he'd been found out on one of the islands, she guessed he had spent some time in the frigid waters of the Atlantic. Almost unconsciously, she reached out to gently squeeze his fingers finding them slightly cool to her touch, but warmer than she'd expected.

Her gaze drew upward toward his face, taking in the sight of the deep eggplant purple bruise under his right eye that extended to the bridge of his nose. His lips, parted by the plastic breathing tube, appeared to be dry and chapped – another strong indicator that he had been exposed to cold temperatures. But she just couldn't fathom how he'd gotten here... Had he been in a shipwreck or had a storm swell thrown him overboard?

"Oh, Killian… What the hell happened to you?" she asked her comatose husband aloud as she tightened her fingers around his once again while raising her left hand to his face, tenderly cupping her palm around the right side of his jawline as her thumb grazed across the thick growth of scruff along his chin.

Henry remained standing stoically behind his mother, fully understanding how much she needed this moment. He considered excusing himself so she could be alone with Killian but he decided against it, preferring instead to just stay back out of the way, relieved that they'd found his stepfather alive yet wary of just how severe his injuries could be. They had learned from the news clip that he'd been found two days ago – the same day he had sailed out of Storybrooke harbor. Since he'd been listed as a John Doe, he must have been unconscious this whole time or they might have been able to ask him his name so while he knew his mother was elated to locate him, the circumstances were raising more questions than answers – answers they weren't likely to get anytime soon.

"You must be Mrs. Jones?" Emma heard a woman's voice ask from the doorway. She turned to see a petite ginger haired woman wearing faded floral print scrubs. "I'm Jackie, the head nurse for this floor. I've been taking care of your husband for the past few days and thought I could answer some of your questions."

"Yes, I'm Mrs. Jones. You can call me Emma. This is my son, Henry. We can't thank you enough for all you've done to take care of my husband – even when he was just a John Doe to you."

"It's all in a day's work, sweetie, and I'm so glad to finally know his name. We don't get a whole lot of John Does around here but I've handled a few where we never learned the victim's real name. It's a bit discouraging sometimes." The nurse smiled then briefly glanced at her watch. "I have a briefing in a few minutes but I'll try to answer your questions about his medical condition, but more specific details regarding the case might have to come from the Sheriff's department."

"I appreciate it. I spoke briefly with Deputy McCallen this morning, but he didn't really tell me anything about what happened. Could you give us a brief overview?" Emma wondered.

"Of course. From a medical standpoint, here's what we know: your husband, then John Doe number 3, was brought in by a Coast Guard rescue unit two days ago. He was hypothermic from immersion in frigid salt water and then from exposure to the elements after washing up on the beach. He showed symptoms of near drowning including mild cyanosis and fluid in his lungs. His body temperature was below 95 degrees when he arrived to our ER, but his lowered core temp may have helped save his life because it might have slowed his circulation enough to prevent him from bleeding to death…"

"Wait – bleeding to death?" Emma interrupted. "I see bruises all over his face but I don't see anything that would possibly have caused him to bleed to death? Wasn't he in a shipwreck or something?"

"You'll really have to speak to the deputy for more specifics, but your husband appears to have been stabbed. He suffered a single puncture wound through his torso from a narrow, very sharp object consistent with a long knife. It entered his body from just below his rib cage on the right side of his back then angled upward through his chest slicing through a portion of his liver and puncturing his diaphragm. Luckily for him, no major blood vessels were severed and surgeons were able to repair the damage. We've been working to get his body temperature back to normal and maintain it which is the reason for the thermal blankets. We've had some difficulty keeping it regulated so he definitely has a way to go - and of course there is still lingering fluid in his lungs which runs a risk of developing into pneumonia so we're keeping a watchful eye on him. With the damage to his diaphragm, his breathing is still compromised so we've kept him on the ventilator, but we're hopeful to have him breathing on his own soon. I've probably rambled on enough, but essentially, we won't know the full extent of the damage until your husband regains consciousness." The nurse paused for a moment to let Emma attempt to digest all of that information then glanced down at her watch once more. "I know that was a lot to take in, but did you have any questions?"

"Honestly, you covered most of it but I know I'm going to have a whole lot to ask Deputy McCallen when he gets here," Emma sighed.

"I'll be in and out periodically for the rest of my shift, then either Colleen or Penelope will be in later this afternoon. If you need any immediate assistance, you can have me paged or just ask Kelly or Judy, the other two nurses in duty."

"Thank you. I appreciate your time and all of the info you've given us." Emma tried to smile as Nurse Jackie excused herself, closing the door behind her. Emma now had a better idea of what he was facing, but they still didn't have the whole picture. She could only hope that Deputy McCallen would be able to fill in a few of the blanks when he arrived.

By this time, Henry had moved to take a seat on a chair by the window as the nurse's words had made it clear that nothing was going to happen for a while so he settled in for what could be a long day.

"Do you want me to text Grandma and Grandpa to let them know what we've found out?" the teen asked, pulling his iPhone and ear buds out of his pocket.

"Sure, kid. You're faster at it anyway," Emma replied as she began to lower herself onto the uncomfortable looking molded plastic chair at Killian's bedside only to be interrupted by a light rap on the door. Medical staff wouldn't knock so perhaps this could be the deputy who was running a little bit late.

"Sheriff Jones?" a voice called out as the door swung open slowly, a voice that was the same as the one she'd heard on the other end of the phone line this morning.

"Yes – come on in," she instructed, turning her attention momentarily away from her husband toward the uniformed deputy as he stepped into the room, trying not to comment on how much younger he appeared to be than what she'd expected. "And please, you can call me Emma."

"Thank you. I'm Deputy Aaron McCallen," he introduced himself, extending his hand toward her for a courteous handshake. "You're welcome to call me Aaron or just McCallen if you prefer. Everyone pretty much just calls me by my surname anyway." He grinned as Emma shook his hand, his dimpled cheeks making him appear even younger. She guessed he was probably in his twenties or at the most, early thirties which really wasn't much younger than she was but he didn't wear the strain of her more jaded existence. He stood at least a foot taller than her and wore his sandy hair cropped very short, almost military style. "I apologize for the delay but I was meeting with a colleague to gather some new information pertinent to your husband's case."

"It's alright," she insisted. "It gave me a few minutes to speak to a nurse so it all worked out just fine. She filled me in on some of the basics that our brief conversation this morning hadn't covered so I'm appreciative of this meeting to find out the rest of what you know about how my husband ended up in this hospital bed. I'm also really glad that my son, Henry, stumbled onto that newscast or we might still be searching for Killian."

"I'm glad he found it too," the deputy stated. "I'm glad we now know your husband's name, but there's still a huge mystery to unravel about how he ended up on the island before we can close this case. This morning, I was meeting with a colleague on the Portland police department as we're working on this as a joint investigation for the time being…"

"A joint investigation into what? Was my husband in a shipwreck or some kind?"

"No – not a shipwreck. Is that what you thought happened?" McCallen seemed understandably confused.

"Well, Killian was out sailing when he disappeared. I guess that was the most logical conclusion, but then I guess that doesn't explain the stab wound the nurse told me about."

"A shipwreck would have been a far easier investigation to sort out," McCallen sighed, glancing toward the window where Henry sat, headphones tucked into his ears as he tapped away on the tiny electronic screen. "Do you want to talk here or would you prefer to step outside?" he asked Emma, slightly uncomfortable about discussing case details in front of the teen.

"It's okay to talk here. It wouldn't be anything he hasn't heard before with his mom, stepdad and grandfather running the Sheriff department back home."

"Bit of a family business?"

"You could say that," she snickered. If only this young deputy knew the whole story…

"Okay – just checking. Why don't you have a seat while I fill you in on everything we know at this point?" McCallen retrieved a small, wirebound notebook from his uniform coat pocket while Emma finally settled down onto the plastic chair at Killian's side, feeling slightly awkward that they were about to discuss what had happened to him while he lay beside her unable to confirm or deny any of it. "As you know, the coastal islands here mostly fall under the jurisdiction of the Cumberland County Sheriff Department which was how I became involved in the case. I was sent out to investigate how an injured, unconscious man came to be found by the Coast Guard on one of our islands with no identification on him – further complicated by the fact that that our John Doe's fingerprints weren't in the system anywhere…"

"Yeah, Killian's a bit of an enigma. He doesn't usually carry a wallet and I really doubt you have the time right now for me to explain his lack of identifiable information in your database," her response came with an uncomfortable laugh that she hoped the deputy hadn't picked up on. "It's a very long story, but please, go on."

"Sounds like a story I'd like to hear some day, but I don't want to digress… Getting back to what we do know, yesterday, before releasing the photograph of your husband's jewelry to the news media, we also sent out a photograph of your husband to local county law enforcement as well as to some of the surrounding areas looking for any additional help in identifying your husband. I apologize that I wasn't familiar with your town of Story…" he struggled to think of the town's name so Emma helped him out.

"Storybrooke," she reminded him.

"Storybrooke," McCallen repeated. "I'd never heard of Storybrooke before so the alert didn't make it to you but our bulletin did generate a hit for facial recognition from the Portland PD – the ones I met with earlier today – who are investigating a robbery and hostage situation that took place the same morning that your husband wound up on the beach."

"You're saying that Killian may have been somehow involved in a robbery?" Emma was slightly dumbfounded at this new revelation.

"He was. I've confirmed that your husband was definitely there from the security video provided by Portland PD."

"How exactly was he involved?" she wondered, her mind racing with questions regarding what her pirate's intentions may have been that drew him into a robbery.

"From the accounts and evidence we have, he appears to have volunteered to allow himself to be taken hostage instead of the store owner," the deputy explained. "I'm heading over to speak to the proprietor myself later today to see if she can provide me with a better idea of how your husband ended up there in the first place to try and sort out the timeline of events."

"When did the robbery take place?"

"If we can believe the time stamp on the security camera footage, just before 11AM on Sunday morning. Portland PD's witness statements put the time between 10:30 and 11AM so we're pretty certain that the video is correct."

"And Killian was rescued from the island at what time?"

"We don't have the exact time that the fishermen spotted him, but Coast Guard Rescue received the call at 1:46PM."

"So the hazy timeline you're working with puts the physical attack – when he was actually stabbed - somewhere in those roughly three hours that are unaccounted for…" Emma thought out loud. "Killian sailed out of Storybrooke harbor about 6AM and ended up on the Portland waterfront about four hours later…"

"What kind of boat does your husband have?" McCallen queried. "One with a powerful motor?"

"One with sails," she deadpanned her response.

"Damn! He must have caught one heck of a breeze to bring a sailboat this far south in that amount of time. I mean, it took you two hours to drive it and sailboats aren't exactly the speediest mode of transportation…"

"It's a pretty good sized 'sailboat'," she chuckled, turning toward her husband and imagining the offense he would have taken to hear his ship referred to as a sailboat, but she also found herself wondering how he'd managed that much speed. "I just wonder what he was doing…"

"Does your husband make a habit out of going sailing alone?"

"He does. I guess you could say that it's his therapy. He's an expert captain and the sea was definitely his first true love…"

"Well, you've filled in a few more points on my timeline," McCallen said as he scribbled a few notes into his little memo pad. "Looking forward to getting some answers from him though." He gestured toward the unconscious Killian with his pen.

"You and me both," Emma sighed, reaching over to pat Killian's hand, remembering how happy she was that they'd found him and just how heartbreaking it was that he wasn't able to tell his side of this mysterious tale.

"I'm sure this hasn't been easy on you," the deputy said, his tone genuinely empathetic as he tucked his notebook and pen away. "I can't begin to imagine what the past few days have been like for your family not knowing where he'd vanished to."

"No, it certainly hasn't been easy. A whole lot of awful things went through my mind," Emma confessed. "Just looking forward to getting him safely back home now."

"Well, I'm going to get out of your hair for now. I've got a witness to go interview, but I promise to check back in with you later."

"Actually…," Emma spoke up as an idea suddenly popped into her head. "Would you mind if I tagged along? Professional courtesy or whatever?" She was slightly torn in asking, but she had her own questions – ones the young deputy might not think to ask and while she didn't really want to leave Killian's side, curiosity generally got the best of her and of course, there was no doubt that he would rather have his wife out there searching for whomever injured him than pining away here.

"I don't have a problem with it, Sheriff, but what about your son? I can't bring a teenager along to an interview…"

"I'll be fine here," Henry chimed in, clearly having been listening to far more of the conversation than he'd let on.

"If you think it would be okay with the guard and with the hospital staff, Henry could stay here so there would be a familiar face if Killian wakes up…," she suggested as she stood up. "I'd honestly rather stay here myself but my gut is telling me that we'll get more answers if I go with you."

"It's fine by me. I know Hank outside. As long as the kid stays in the room, he won't have a problem, but you might want to check with the nurses to see what they have to say," McCallen didn't really know what to make of this blonde Sheriff but she intrigued him. He had a feeling that she had a way of getting answers and admired the strength she displayed, not certain if he'd be able to even consider leaving his spouse's side if he'd just been reunited with them after days of being missing. Finding out what had happened to her husband was such a clear priority and it had the deputy smiling stupidly as she walked past him and headed out to the nurse's station, returning maybe a minute later to collect her coat.

"Okay, kid – you're cleared to stay here but should anything happen, you'll have to stay out of the way. You also need to stay here in the room unless told otherwise by security or one of the nurses."

"I'll be fine, Mom. I've got my phone, headphones and a charger. I can keep myself entertained," Henry insisted.

"Thought so. Call me if there are any changes, okay? We should be back in what – about an hour or so?" she looked over her shoulder at Deputy McCallen for confirmation.

"Um…yeah… I would say about an hour," the deputy stammered, not really certain how long the interview would take as he didn't really have a plethora of experience with these types of investigations. "If you're ready, we can head over to the witness' shop. She said she'll be there all afternoon and with traffic, it's about a fifteen minute drive from here."

"Okay – just a sec…," Emma paused as she tugged on her camel colored wool peacoat, lingering momentarily at Killian's bedside before stooping to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back soon," she whispered, hoping he was able to hear her. "Would love to see you awake when I get back." She then turned to Henry, giving him the same reminder that she'd return soon. "Do me a favor and give David a call? Let him know I'll fill him in on everything later?"

"I already texted him that message," Henry grinned, "but I'll give him a call too. I know Grandma's pretty worried." Emma nodded, agreeing that both of her parents were likely very worried since they still had so little information to work with and especially since after two days, Killian remained unconscious. She pushed back the lingering guilt as she really didn't want to leave him, but her inquisitive side was demanding answers and she felt she'd serve him better if she tried to obtain those answers instead of just sitting idly here.

"See you in a bit, kid. Don't do anything I would do," she said with a little grin as she stepped through the doorway following Deputy McCallen.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Mom," Henry responded as she left, realizing very quickly after she and the deputy were gone how eerily quiet it became. It wasn't totally silent as he could still hear the voices of people out in the corridor, but now that he was alone in this sterile hospital room, he felt a heightened awareness of the strange sounds coming from the abundance of machines and monitors that surrounded his stepfather – oddly equally unnerved and comforted by the unusual noises. It was weird and a little bit lonely – even though he wasn't technically alone. Killian was right here – just a few feet away from where he sat, yet at the same time, he wasn't there. He had no way of knowing if Killian could sense his presence – whether or not he now knew that he wasn't alone anymore in this strange city.

It certainly wasn't that Henry hadn't seen the pirate injured before. He'd had the unfortunate honor of watching Killian die twice for heaven's sake, but something about this was different. The boy sat there oddly transfixed by the unnaturally even rhythm of his stepfather's machine-aided breath and the consistent bleeps and blips that registered everything from his heart rate to blood pressure and other vitals that Henry couldn't even identify right now. It was all slightly surreal and there was a part of his mind that couldn't shake the thought that he could be sitting here watching his stepfather slowly dying yet again – all the while wishing that there was something he could do.

He finally broke his stare when he felt his phone vibrate in his hand with a message from Violet - a reply to his earlier text expressing her relief that Killian had been found. He responded with a promise to call her later when they had more information, remembering his assurance to his mom that he'd call his grandfather – awkwardly wondering for just a moment whether Killian might be bothered by him making a phone call.

Yeah, certainly nothing normal about this situation…


	4. Chapter Three

_Tuesday afternoon, Portland Harbor_

The drive to the harbor took almost exactly fifteen minutes despite hitting nearly every traffic light red on their way. Deputy McCallen pulled the early 2000s era faded beige or maybe pale gold unmarked Ford Taurus into the parking lot of a dated but well maintained convenience store that had at one time also been a gas station. Still bearing the weathered awning that once covered the pumps, Scott's Mart had long ago stopped selling any fuel other than propane to focus on the store and its fledgling coffee shop. Only a few blocks away from the revitalized Old Port area where many of the former warehouses had been converted to nightclubs and restaurants, this side of the harbor near the ferry terminal had clung to its maritime roots, frequented more by commuters and commercial fishermen than tourists or trendy locals.

McCallen already knew bits and pieces of the area's history both from having grown up here in Portland as well as from information Sgt. Haviland had shared with him earlier that morning. This shop's current owner was Jean Scott, the blonde haired fifty-something woman from the security video who was the third generation of the Scotts to operate the store, but first to be forced to make drastic changes to how her business was run so she could adapt to the new harbor front development. Her business survived mostly from her regular customers – dock workers, fishermen and the daily commuters arriving and departing from the busy ferries serving the outer islands. Her enviable location only a block from the terminal was predominately what had kept her business afloat.

During the drive over, McCallen had attempted to keep his questions related to the investigation, not wanting to offend Emma with unprofessional inquiries that would make him appear inexperienced, but he found that a few nagging queries just wouldn't remain silent – one of which made its way to his lips as he turned off the engine of the Taurus.

"Okay, I have to know something," he began, shifting to face his passenger. "What's the significance of the jewelry?"

"The jewelry? What jewelry?" Emma wondered, confused at the sudden seemingly irrelevant question.

"Your husband's jewelry – those ornate rings, the skull and crossbones necklace – like something right out of a pirate movie. Does he have some sort of pirate fetish or something?" His inquiry caught her so unprepared that she nearly choked while trying to suppress a giggle.

"Well, that's another really long story…," she chuckled. "I wouldn't even know where to begin. Suffice it to say he really loves the sea."

"So – no fingerprints in the system, no driver's license, a potentially disturbing fascination with pirates… I've got a feeling there are a whole lot of 'long stories' involved here…"

"You have absolutely no idea," Emma laughed as she pushed open the passenger side door and climbed out of the car while McCallen shook his head in mock frustration.

"Think maybe you'll fill me in on some of those long stories as this case goes on?" he asked as he exited the car. "Like what possessed you into making the decision to come over here with me rather than staying with your husband at the hospital?"

"That's an easy one to answer. I know for a fact that Killian would rather have me out here trying to track down the people who hurt him instead of sitting uselessly by his bedside feeling sorry for him. He'd never allow that. As for the rest, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" he mumbled as they strolled toward the shop's front door which bore a very large "CLOSED" sign even though they could clearly see the proprietor inside as she attempted to replace a broken shelf on a display case. McCallen rapped loudly on the glass which garnered an angry shout from inside:

"We're closed! Just like the sign says."

"Ms. Scott? I'm Deputy McCallen with the Cumberland County Sheriff's Department. We spoke briefly earlier and I'm here to ask you a few more questions if you don't mind, remember?"

"I've already talked to Portland PD about the robbery," the woman shouted back. "I don't know what else I could possibly tell you that I didn't already tell them."

"Ms. Scott," the deputy persisted. "I'm not here to ask you questions about the robbery per se. I'm investigating a different case – what might be an attempted homicide."

"Attempted homicide?" the woman's tone softened becoming more quizzical as she placed the shelf bracket onto the tile floor, then stood up and walked over to the door. "What attempted homicide and what the hell does it have to do with me?" she asked the deputy through the door, not yet convinced to open it for the young man and his blonde companion with the messy ponytail and a no-nonsense scowl etched onto her face.

"The man the robbers took hostage two days ago – he turned up half dead on Little Diamond Island later that day…" McCallen informed her.

"Wait – the guy in the leather jacket?" Jean Scott asked, clearly surprised as she immediately unlocked the door and pushed it open. "The good looking British guy who was here in my shop was the unidentified person they were talking about on the news last night?"

"We're pretty sure he was," the deputy replied as the shopkeeper stepped aside, now eagerly inviting both of her guests inside. "We're hoping you can help us figure out how he got out there."

"Yeah, sure…," Jean said, her demeanor completely changed now as she closed the door behind them and relocked it. "I don't know how much I can help you, but I'll tell you this much, the guy probably saved my life. Guess I owe him a few minutes of my time to try and answer your questions."

"We really appreciate it, Ms. Scott," Emma spoke up. "My name is Emma Jones, Sheriff of the town of Storybrooke," she decided to use the professional title to introduce herself to establish her relevance in the investigation. "The man in the leather jacket who was here on Sunday was my husband, Killian, who also serves as Deputy Sheriff in our department."

"Killian, huh? He never mentioned what his name was, but he kept positioning himself between the robbers and me. He wouldn't ever let them get too close," Jean stated. "Him being a deputy makes sense now. He just stayed calm and kept talking to them – kind of like he'd done it before, you know?"

"What can you tell us about that morning leading up to the robbery and hostage situation?" McCallen asked as he withdrew his notepad and pen.

"I really already went over this with the cops," the shopkeeper groaned, turning her back to them as she took a step toward her coffee shop counter in the rear of the store. "Do you really want the full replay?"

"It would be a huge help to us," Emma pleaded as Jean continued over to the counter then reached across it to press a button on her industrial sized coffee maker, positioning a large chrome carafe onto the base before plopping herself onto one of three barstools.

"Well, then, coffee's brewing…," Jean sighed. "You two aren't in a hurry, are you?"

 _Two days earlier_

Sunday had started out as a typical weekend morning – the usuals dropping by for a cup and a chat before heading out to wherever they spent their day whether that might be work or play. It had been, for the most part, a lovely day – bright and sunny although still a tad chilly for April, but it had been exceptionally windy. She'd glanced out the front windows on a few occasions to spy her hand-lettered sign swaying on its post and watched the steel awning above the long absent gas and go area occasionally heave with a strong gust. She made a mental note to have the boys next door check it out once the wind died down, thankful that at least these weren't gale force winds or she likely would have lost a section by now.

Mid-morning was always the lull of the day - especially on the weekends. Ferry traffic slowed and customers were infrequent although usually things picked up as it got closer to lunch time when a few regular patrons would drop in for a sandwich from her cooler or just another steaming hot cup of joe to thaw their insides. Some days, it seemed as though the handful of repeat customers she had was all that was keeping her going, but Jean Scott wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet. This was more than just a business to her – it was her family's pride and joy. The shop had stood here on the harbor, a block from the Portland ferry terminal, for nearly fifty years and Jean was now the third generation of her family to run it, following in her father and grandfather's footsteps. So much had changed down here on the waterfront in all of those years, but she wasn't ready to part with the shop just yet, never mind the constant badgering she got from developers who wanted her to sell to them. It just wasn't time for that yet.

A little after 10:30am, she'd started cleaning out one of her two largest coffee carafes in preparation for the lunch rush when she'd heard the little electronic buzzer sound that informed her a customer had entered the shop, a feature she'd recently installed for times like these when her head was buried under the counter. Alerted that she was no longer alone in the shop, she perked her head up to see if it was one of her usuals, but instead of a regular customer, she laid eyes on a man she'd never seen before. There wasn't a single thing about this man's appearance that would have led her to believe he was from this area looking as out of place on this harbor as anyone could imagine. He stood not quite six feet tall wearing a black leather motorcycle style jacket adorned with silver zippers and buckles over a neatly pressed indigo blue Oxford shirt and what appeared to be a black leather vest.

But it wasn't just his clothing that drew her attention, it was the total image he presented. He wore his chestnut brown hair short and sported several days growth of neatly trimmed stubble along his jawline and upper lip that lent to his roguish charm. She wasn't really certain how to describe his demeanor but it essentially came down to a mix of biker tough meets Harvard scholar – his air of confidence oddly captivating as he stood next to the checkout counter.

"Morning!" she called out, scurrying from behind the coffee shop counter to greet her new customer. "Welcome to Scott's Mart. What can I do for you this morning?"

"I was told by a neighboring establishment that I could get a decent warm beverage here while I await the next ferry over to Peaks Island," the man replied in a strongly accented voice she suspected was British. She could see that his face and ears were flush from the cold and wind, but he didn't seem the type to complain about a chill in the air.

"You sure can get a warm beverage here," Jean smiled. "What's your preference – coffee or tea?"

"Preference would be rum but this hardly looks like a tavern so I'll settle for whatever you've got handy."

"Well then, have a seat. I'll have a fresh pot brewed in no time," she snickered.

"Much appreciated," he responded, flashing a huge smile that would have made her weak in the knees were she twenty years younger. "Don't suppose you would know what time the next ferry is scheduled to depart, would you?" he asked, placing a paper sack that she recognized as coming from the neighboring Mac's Maritime Supply store onto the counter before taking a seat on the furthest of the three barstools – the one closest to her six foot by three foot aquarium – by far her favorite feature of the entire shop. She loved to watch her vibrantly hued tropical fish swimming around the tank as they could always calm her on a stressful day.

"There's a schedule posted on the wall to your right," she informed him, "but most of these ferries have been on the same schedule since I was a kid so I can tell you that the next ferry over to Peaks leaves at 11:25am." She circled around to the rear of the counter and retrieved an alabaster ceramic mug from the shelf. "How do you like your coffee, sir?"

"As strong as you can get it and straight black," the stranger replied with a wide grin and for the first time since he'd walked into her shop, Jean realized he had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Damn! Where had this guy come from?

"Haven't seen you around here before…," she started making a little small talk and flirting unmercifully as she filled the mug nearly to the brim with the steaming dark liquid and expertly slid it across the countertop to her customer.

"Thank you," he replied, gracing her with yet another amazing smile. Was this her lucky day or what? "And, no – I'm not from your city. I sailed into the vicinity this morning only to have the bowline on my mainsail snap. They didn't have the proper tensile strength line at the shop I visited out on the island so the gentleman there recommended an establishment here on the mainland."

"Not sure I'd call Mac's Supply shop an 'establishment', but he's got the best inventory in the area," she chuckled.

"Indeed. Found a suitable implement to at least get me back home – although it'll probably take me a fair portion of the afternoon to get it tied off properly again."

"So you're a sailor?" she questioned, enthralled by this fascinating new customer. "You don't look like any sailor I've seen around these parts…"

"Ah… looks can be deceiving, milady," he replied with a devilish smirk. God, this guy oozed charm, she thought… And that accent… She could listen to him talk all day, but she had to keep reminding herself she needed to get back to work before the lunch rush. And besides – a guy this good looking, he had to be taken.

"Well, Sailor, let me know when you need a warm up. I've got to get the rest of my machines cleaned out and ready to brew before the lunch crowd arrives." The man nodded in agreement as he took a tentative sip of his coffee to test its temperature before placing the mug back into the counter and reaching into a pocket to retrieve his cell phone. Jean watched him slowly typing out what must have been a text message as she poked her head out of the alcove that served as the coffee shop's makeshift kitchen. "Might have to duck outside to get that to send," she advised. "Signal tends to be pretty weak in here."

"Thank you," he responded as he stood up, phone in hand. "Appreciate the advice." Leaving his parcel and the coffee mug on the counter while the beverage cooled, the dark haired stranger took a few steps toward the store's entrance intending to make a quick jaunt outside to send his message. He never quite made it past the racks of candy, snacks and chewing gum as he found his exit blocked by two individuals wearing heavy down jackets and ski masks pulled over their faces barreling their way through the door. It wasn't all that unusual for Jean's customers to enter the shop with their faces protected from the elements, especially on such a breezy, cold day with the sea spray being whipped up by the wind, but courtesy dictated taking off said coverings once inside. Something about their body language was off and Jean Scott's sailor-in-black-leather customer instantly sensed something wasn't right.

Because these two weren't customers at all.

 _Present Day_

"Don't get me wrong," Jean Scott continued with her story, "this wasn't my first time around. I've had plenty of experience dealing with shoplifters and robberies over the years, but something about this time was different…"

"In what way?" Emma wondered, finding herself both curious about the crime and amused at Ms. Scott's description and portrayal of Killian.

"Most of the crooks we've dealt with around here have been kids. They burst in, demand money and take off or they sneak in, shove things into their pockets while trying to keep me distracted. Either way, these guys – they weren't in a hurry. They came in, locked the door and demanded our cell phones – all before asking for any money from the register or my safe. It was odd and I think your husband picked up on something strange right away…"

"You're right," Emma agreed, "what you're describing doesn't sound like a run of the mill robbery."

Deputy McCallen had been busy scribbling away in his notepad, absorbing and recording all of the highlights as Ms. Scott relayed them and despite his limited investigative experience, he was also decidedly skeptical about the criminals' intent. Even without knowing that Jean Scott's security camera was a product of the late 1980s, their unusual actions didn't make a lot of sense. Why would they be taking their time? Delaying and hesitating would increase the probability of getting caught – exactly the opposite outcome that most criminals would be looking for. So why did they lock the door and take their time?

"Did they keep your phones so you couldn't reach out for help?" McCallen asked.

"Sort of," Jean replied, motioning toward her aquarium. "They dumped both of our phones in there. I pulled them out before the Portland cops got here, but they were both ruined. They'll probably end up making my fish sick too." It was becoming clear that this shopkeeper was more than a little bit pissed off at the whole situation and it certainly didn't seem like it was just about the money. She was taking this personally.

"I wonder if Killian tried to send me a message to let me know where he was," Emma found herself wondering. "If he'd been able to get that message through, things might have gone a little differently and you might not have been investigating a John Doe for two days. At least now I have the explanation as to why his phone kept registering as Out of Range or Out of Service Area when I tried to ping it."

"I've gotta agree – you getting that message would have helped us both out – both my case and your nerves," McCallen stated with an awkward half smile, immediately regretting his choice of words as he didn't want to get too personal again. "Anyway, Ms. Scott, what did they do after they threw your phones into the fish tank?"

"One of them was waving a gun around, barking orders at the other," Jean recalled. "The second guy went after the register and then the bossy one came toward me demanding the money in the safe. He got a little pushy with me so the guy in leather – your husband – came to my defense. He stepped between that bully and me – told the jerk to keep his hands off me and got himself a hell of a shiner in the process."

"That explains where his black eye came from," Emma sighed, "but we're still missing a huge gap of time between this shop and when he was rescued from the island…"

"Me. Scott," McCallen interrupted, remembering a detail from the security video he'd watched that needed clarification. "On your security camera footage that Portland PD shared with me, you can see one of the robbers removing something from Mr. Jones' jacket pocket. Do you recall what that item was?"

"Oh, that – it was a gold coin," Jean stated, then continued with an explanation of what had led up to the image the deputy was referencing. "We had just heard the ferry horn sound indicating it was arriving at the dock so I warned the crooks that there would soon be more customers arriving who would be really curious about why my door is locked in the middle of the day. They tried to drag me with them but your husband wouldn't let them. He told them about the gold coin in his pocket and even offered them more if they let me go. He told them he had more coins out on his boat and I guess they believed him because they changed their minds and took him with them when they left instead. Figured his coins might be worth more than the hundred bucks or so that I had here in the store I suppose."

"So Mr. Jones might have been leading them out to his own boat when they took him hostage?" McCallen speculated aloud. Emma cringed every time they referred to the Jolly Roger as a "boat" hearing Killian's voice echoing in her ear reminding her that she was a ship, not a boat. "You said he'd been waiting for a ferry?" the deputy's question continued.

"Yeah – heading out to Peaks," Jean stated.

"So it's likely that he left his boat docked out there somewhere?" McCallen theorized.

"He mentioned something about a broken bowline and came in carrying a bag of rope from Mac's down the block. I think it's still around here somewhere…," Jean tried to visually scan the haphazard mess that was her shop right now, surveying the damage done by both the robbers and the police during their investigation. It was pure chaos right now, but she spotted the brown paper bag lying on the floor under the counter. "Oh - over there. That's it on the floor behind the barstools." She pointed to the bag with its top rolled down into a carrying handle.

"A snapped bowline could have taken his mainsail out of commission making it difficult for him to get back home," Emma lamented as McCallen retrieved the bag of rope from the floor. "Well, now we know what brought him to Portland at least. One more piece of the puzzle."

"If he did leave his boat docked out near Peaks somewhere, they likely would have had to pass by Little Diamond on the way out across the bay," the deputy suggested. "They had to have had their own boat because they would have drawn a lot of attention holding a man at gunpoint on the ferry…"

"And they definitely had a gun shoved into his back when they stormed outta here," Jean reminded them of the scene that McCallen had watched at the end of the video. "What happened after they left here? What exactly did they do to him if you don't mind me asking?"

"We still don't know all of the details, but at some point after they left your store, someone stabbed Mr. Jones in the back and likely tossed him into the bay to drown," McCallen replied matter-of-factly. "We've no idea how he got to the beach, but we're pretty certain he wouldn't have survived much longer if a couple of fishermen hadn't come along and spotted him."

"Damn…," the store owner responded with a deep sigh. "Good looking stranger probably saved my life…" she repeated her earlier statement then turned toward Emma with a sincere, empathetic expression. "Please thank your husband for me. I owe him a hell of a lot more than another cup of coffee."

"I'll be happy to deliver that message as soon as he wakes up," Emma replied with a somewhat tepid, half-hearted smile. She didn't want to appear rude, but the reality of the situation had just come flooding back with McCallen's straightforward description of what might have happened to Killian. He was still lying unconscious in a hospital bed – still dependent on machines to breathe for him, but he had voluntarily put himself into a dangerous position to aid a woman he'd just met – and Emma couldn't have been prouder. Yet at the same time, that chivalrous act had left him stranded unknown and alone in that same hospital bed for two full days and she just couldn't shake the overwhelming sadness and trace of rage that she was experiencing. She struggled to maintain her professionalism, hoping Ms. Scott and Deputy McCallen weren't witnessing traces of her internal battle with her emotions. There would be a time for those to surface – when they found the men who'd wounded her husband. "We definitely appreciate all of your help, Me. Scott. Thank you for taking time to talk to us."

"My pleasure," Jean replied. "And I'm sorry about my attitude before. It's been a rough couple of days – obviously not as rough as what your husband's been through, but I'm still trying to put everything back together and get back to work. Anyway, Sheriff, I don't know where you found that man, but you've got one hell of a catch there. Hang on to that one!"

"I plan to," Emma smiled, this time genuinely as she and McCallen each shook hands with the shopkeeper, saying their thanks before making their egress to the parking lot. They'd been here just under an hour – a tad longer than she'd expected and her heart was anxious to get back to Killian's side. They were now armed with some new information though and while a huge chunk of the puzzle remained missing, pieces were falling into place. Killian had baited his captors with a doubloon and undoubtedly did have more of them stashed out on the Jolly Roger, but was he really intending to lead them out to his ship? Had he offered himself as a hostage strictly to protect the woman? Was he simply leading them away from the store before making an escape attempt? Maybe he'd foolishly thought he could take on both of his abductors – certainly not out of character for him to challenge a foe who clearly held the upper hand, or in this case, two of them. She had to believe that he'd let himself be taken as their captive in an attempt to reach a position where he would have a tactical advantage, but his current predicament meant he probably never reached that point. Somewhere along the way, whatever plan his brain had conjured had gone awry – but where? Why? How?

Those questions remained unanswered and only Killian himself would likely be able to answer them.


	5. Chapter 4

_Tuesday afternoon, Portland Medical Center_

Deputy McCallen dropped Emma off in front of the hospital entrance approximately an hour and a half after they'd left – or roughly half an hour later than she'd promised her son, but neither of her boys seemed upset with her. Henry still had his earbuds in, fully engrossed with whatever he was viewing on his phone while Killian remained motionless on the bed, and now that she knew more of how Killian reached this moment, her curiosity was only heightened. He'd been stranded with a damaged sail and most likely had attempted to contact her once he'd purchased the rope necessary to repair it – thankful that she'd made him take a couple of 20 dollar bills with him as merchants here weren't as likely to have accepted his doubloons.

She had contemplated everything Jean Scott had told them about the robbery as she rode up in the elevator – about why Killian had come into her shop; about how he'd been interrupted before making his phone call home – assuming that's what he'd been heading outside to do. All of it left nearly two hours still unaccounted for and what happened next was still a mystery to them. She wanted to see the security video that McCallen had referred to hoping she might pick up on some nuance that the deputy wouldn't have noticed.

And she couldn't help but think about her interaction with Deputy Aaron McCallen. His mannerisms stuck her as odd, but earnest. How many modern investigators still used a notepad and pen for case notes? Emma used electronic devices whenever she could or simply committed the information to memory until she had a moment to record it. She may have been born into a fairytale kingdom but she'd been raised with technology and she fully embraced it. McCallen, on the other hand, for such a young investigator, was either very old school or very inexperienced. He certainly seemed diligent enough, although perhaps a bit reserved. He'd seemed almost embarrassed to ask about the significance of Killian's jewelry – not that she was able to give him the whole honest answer, but either way, he'd been hesitant to touch on any personal subjects. Of course, most investigators probably wouldn't take Emma's more cavalier approach. It just worked for her.

"Hey, Kid," she'd announced as she stepped through the doorway. "Sorry we got back a little late. Any changes while I was gone?"

"It's okay, Mom," he assured her as he yanked on the cord to his earbuds, removing them. "Nothing changed here. Hope you and the deputy were able to get some new info though."

"We did. We've got a better idea of how Killian ended up here in Portland and we know for certain that he did voluntarily allow himself to be taken hostage to protect a shop owner."

"So what happened?"

"According to the store owner's account, the bowline on the mainsail broke. Killian apparently didn't have enough rope onboard to fix it and had to take a ferry from an offshore island to a shop on the harbor. He was waiting for the ferry to head back when someone tried to rob the place. Killian offered up doubloons from the Jolly Roger if they'd leave the woman running the place alone, but right now, that's all we know," Emma sighed as she lowered herself onto the chair next to her husband, reaching over to grasp his hand as she sat down. "We know that two men were involved, but they wore masks the whole time so the store owner couldn't identify them. Maybe he saw their faces after they took him hostage or maybe he overheard something he wasn't supposed to so they tried to kill him? We just don't know what went on after he left the store with a gun to his back except that he didn't get shot, he got stabbed instead."

"I'm sorry, Mom. He'll wake up soon and then you'll be able to ask him."

"I hope so," was her crestfallen reply and her son decided to change the subject there before the room became any gloomier than it already was.

"Now that you're back, do you mind if I head downstairs to the cafeteria to get some lunch? I'm really getting hungry…"

"Sure," she replied having not even realized that it was nearly 1PM now, the thought of food not even crossing her mind.

"Want me to bring you something?" Henry offered.

"No, that's okay. I'm not really hungry right now. I'll get something later…"

"Okay, then. I'll be right back." She watched her son as he headed out into the hallway, disappearing behind the pulled curtains and almost instantly found herself struck with the same sensation of loneliness that Henry had felt earlier. After two days without her husband close to her, without hearing his voice or being able to gaze into his sparkling blue eyes, she longed to get lost in his smile once again and yet all she was able to do presently was simply stare at his unconscious form as he lay there so still and so silent. This wasn't where they were supposed to be. They were supposed to be at home in Storybrooke dealing with the latest dwarf crisis or sitting at Granny's having lunch with her parents – anywhere but here in a Portland hospital room where despite the nurse's earlier cautious optimism, Emma still found herself fighting off the lingering apprehension that she might be planning for a funeral.

That horrid thought was quickly chased from Emma's mind as a nurse appeared in the still open doorway carrying a tray covered in supplies, startling the sheriff for a moment as she hadn't heard anyone enter.

"I'm so sorry to startle you, Mrs. Jones," the young nurse who'd been at the desk earlier when Emma arrived apologized. "I just came in to change the dressing on his wounds. I'll only be a couple of minutes…"

"No need to apologize," Emma responded. "I guess I zoned out for a moment. I'll get out of your way here…" She stood up, placing Killian's hand gently back at his side as she rose. The nurse drew the privacy curtain around the bed in case someone else were to walk into the room and sat her tray atop the rolling table that had been pushed over to the foot of the bed. Emma retreated back toward the window as the nurse attended to her husband assuming the young woman wouldn't want an audience.

"It's okay for you to stay," the nurse insisted. "As long as you're not overly squeamish, I might even be able to use your assistance. This is sometimes faster with two sets of hands," she paused as she realized that her choice of wording might have been offensive, but Emma didn't react to the faux pas so the young woman completed her statement. "Or I could page an orderly if you'd prefer…?"

"Alright, I'm open for pretty much anything. Just let me know what I need to do," Emma replied as the nurse unwrapped the blanket from around Killian's shoulders which allowed her to at last see the patch of gauze taped across the lower portion of his chest and upper abdomen. As the dressing was peeled back, the dull red sutured surgical incision became visible, stretching several inches across the lower portion of his rib cage toward his sternum. Despite having been stabbed in the back, it appeared that surgeons had chosen to go in through his chest for easier access to repair the damage. After a brief inspection, the wound was rapidly and expertly re-bandaged and once that task was completed, the nurse quickly checked his IV and his breathing tube before turning to Emma.

"I need to check the wound on his back now. If you wouldn't mind helping for a moment, I can finish this easier with him still in this position. If you don't want to though, I understand and I can lay him down instead."

"I'll be happy to help. Just tell me what I need to do."

"I just need you to support his weight while I lean his upper body forward a little to access the other incision. If you could come over here…," the nurse motioned toward the opposite side of Killian's bed so Emma skirted around him as instructed. "Okay – now just place your hands on his shoulders as I sit him a little more upright and steady his weight…" The nurse brought her right hand alongside Killian's jaw as her left hand slid behind his back and gently pushed him forward just a couple of inches. She cradled his head in place while Emma supported his torso, gradually allowing his head to tilt forward as well. "Good," the nurse stated as she pulled her hand away from his neck, freeing it up to dress the other wound. "Just a minute and I'll be all finished." She had already removed the old dressing and tossed it onto the tray with the rest of the used gauze and just as swiftly as she'd bandaged the wound on his chest, she tended to the smaller but decidedly more ragged incision at the middle of his back. "There – all done." The nurse smiled as she repeated the gentle hold of his head while lowering her patient's body back against the mattress.

Emma kept her hands at his shoulders until he was returned to his original position on the bed, her head now filled with theories about the type of knife used to stab him. The wound had been delivered with an upward thrust with a blade long enough to pierce completely through his chest cavity so they clearly weren't looking for a pocket knife nor could this injury have been made with the dagger Killian often carried inside his boot. This blade had to have been longer than that, but certainly narrower than a sword. A kitchen knife maybe? Or maybe a fisherman's boning knife?

She finally pulled her hands away as the nurse brought the blanket back up around his shoulders finding herself wondering how much longer they would keep him wrapped up like that. She wasn't really certain what normal body temperature was for a roughly three hundred year old pirate, but clearly the hospital was looking for something closer to the standard 98.6 and he must not have been there yet.

"Everything looks good right now," the nurse spoke up while pushing the privacy curtain back into place at the head of the bed, bringing Emma back around to the present. "His wounds do appear to be healing properly which is a very good sign."

"Thank you," Emma replied with a gracious smile, not that it was really necessary. The nurse was doing her job, but Emma still felt a need to express her appreciation for all that had been done to keep Killian alive, even long before the hospital staff had even known his name. The nurse reciprocated the smile, silently acknowledging the sentiment as she gathered up all of the supplies and trash onto her tray, leaving Emma alone with her husband once again.

"I will find whoever did this to you," she whispered her promise to his ear as she returned to the chair by his side. "I just need you to wake up and give us the rest of the story." Her eyes damp and glistening with tears, she reached over to caress his cheek, her fingertips brushing lightly against his right ear while the pad of her thumb tenderly explored the barely yellowing bruises around his eye noting that his right eyelid honestly looked as though he'd simply smeared it with the smoky kohl he still used as liner. "Hope you left at least one of them with a matching black eye." Her thumb drifted lower across his cheek, then paused to trace the cloth surgical tape which secured the breathing tube in place. She wanted more than anything to help him, but out here - out in what Storybrooke residents still referred to as The Land Without Magic – she didn't have the ability to heal him and that fact was only augmenting her frustration.

Her burgeoning angst was tempered though when she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. Retrieving it, she discovered that the caller was her father whom she'd promised to contact when they had more information so she couldn't really ignore him.

"You won't mind if I talk to my dad for a moment, will you?" she asked Killian aloud, fully aware that he wouldn't be able to argue. "Hi, Dad," she answered the call. "Sorry I haven't gotten back to you sooner, but it's been a pretty busy day so far… No, there hasn't been any change since Henry messaged you. He's still unconscious and definitely still critical, but the nurse we talked to earlier sounded fairly optimistic… Who knows?" She paused while David replied and then continued with the minute amount of new information that she had: "So Henry told you that I rode over to interview a witness with a Cumberland County deputy, right? …Yeah, it gave us a little more insight about what happened. Killian apparently let himself be taken hostage during a robbery at a convenience store down on the harbor… He had some problems with one of the sails, I guess – won't know for sure until he tells us himself… No – two robbers wearing ski masks were involved and at some point after they took him hostage, he got stabbed and ended up in the Atlantic. That's it so far… Yeah, most of it sounds like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

Emma was listening to her father's next response after she'd given him the highlights of Jean Scott's story when the sight of an ever-so-slight twitch in her peripheral vision garnered her attention. The nearly imperceptible motion of Killian's pinky finger almost went unnoticed as Emma practically dismissed it as an involuntary muscle spasm. It was only the sound that followed it that stopped her conversation entirely – a strangled, guttural cry that emanated from Killian's throat as though he were being choked.

"Dad – I'll call you back. I've got to go." She didn't even wait for him to say goodbye before disconnecting the call - returning her full, undivided attention to Killian who seemed to be desperately gasping for air, unaware that the tube blocking his throat was performing that task for him. Not yet entirely conscious, he raised his hand to his throat as though he were trying to remove whatever he imagined was choking him. "Killian – it's okay…," she spoke in a soft, gentle voice trying to reassure her husband as his eyes flickered open in semi-lucid panic, but not even the sight of his wife or the serene timbre of her voice put an end to his wheezing and clutching at his throat. "Killian – listen to me – you're okay. Just relax… You're safe…"

 _He'd come to slowly – his mind a disoriented, discombobulated mess as he struggled to find his bearings. The smell of disinfectant assaulted his nostrils first as his fingers shifted around to explore the surface beneath them – something made from smooth cloth. One eye opened scarcely a slit, immediately squeezing closed again as the bright overhead light attacked his retina. No - too bright… He tried to take in the sound instead, listening for clues even if he wasn't yet conscious enough to be aware of what he was doing. He couldn't identify most of the noises – strange, alien cacophony to his ears, but there was something familiar…? A voice…? Emma's voice…? Was she really here? Could he get her attention?_

 _He wanted to shout to her but he found he had no voice. Why didn't he have a voice? He struggled for lucidity as his conscious mind returned, instantly fully aware of the extreme discomfort he was experiencing. His chest ached and burned, his eye throbbed and his throat felt strange – obstructed? Now he was getting agitated – he couldn't call out to Emma because he was being choked. His hand flew to his throat, desperate to claw away whatever hand was wrapped around his neck, but there was none there but his own. What black magic was this? He tried again to cry out to his wife, but the sound only came out as a strangled growl from the back of his throat while his eyes flew open, landing on the wondrous sight of her face framed by her golden locks, but even her calming words weren't enough to quell the feeling that he was drowning all over again. At least if he were to die this time, his final vision would be her face rather than a deserted island cove._

Emma found herself not knowing how to help him, grateful to see the face of the nurse who'd left only minutes earlier return to the room after being alerted by the monitors indicating a sudden spike in Killian's heart rate and blood pressure.

"I think he's choking," Emma tried to explain what she'd witnessed as the nurse brushed past her.

"He's trying to breathe on his own," the nurse replied. "Take his hand and hold on to it so he doesn't try to pull the tube out. It's not uncommon for patients just coming around to panic with a trachea tube in place, but he could do permanent damage to his throat if he keeps fighting it and tries to pull it out." Emma wrapped both of her hands around his and pulled it away from his neck, squeezing as tightly as she could to prevent him from escaping her grasp. "Mr. Jones?" the young woman called out to her patient in an attempt to draw his attention. "Mr. Jones, there's no need to panic. There's a tube in your throat helping you breathe. I know it's annoying right now, but I need you to relax and not fight it…" His gaze shifted slightly from Emma to the nurse, but there was no recognition or focus – just a wide panicked stare. "He's not coherent enough to understand and I'm worried he's going to hurt himself… Hang on…" The nurse had already retrieved a syringe from the pocket of her scrubs and after removing the cap, pushed the hollow needle into some sort of portal attached to the IV tubing. They must have been anticipating this very reaction, Emma thought as the contents of the syringe were emptied into his IV. After a few adjustments to increase the speed of the IV drip so the medication would reach his bloodstream faster, the nurse spoke up again. "This sedative will take effect pretty quickly, but it doesn't last very long. It will help relax him so he doesn't hurt himself while I page the doctor. This is a really good turn of events," the young woman insisted.

 _He couldn't get his vision to focus. He could still hear the voices – one that sounded like Emma and another he didn't recognize trying to say something to him. His eyes caught a glimpse of the speaker – a woman, but brunette, not blonde but her words weren't making sense. Everything was twisted and garbled in his head but his concern was that he still felt something blocking his windpipe. Why weren't they helping him? Why would Emma stand here watching him suffocate and do nothing? He struggled for clarity, yet he could feel the pull of the darkness lulling him back into sleep. He didn't want to relax but the drug now coursing through his veins was exerting its hold and he gradually surrendered to it._

It took less than a minute for the drug to make its way into his system and Emma could feel his fingers go limp between hers as his eyelids began to droop. Now both anxious and excited, she clung somewhat frantically to his hand as the nurse scurried back to her station to try to locate his doctor. She wasn't thrilled that he'd needed to be sedated so soon after waking but understood that the panicked semi-conscious pirate could have inflicted serious injury to his windpipe or vocal cords had he managed to yank the tube out. The positive note was that he was regaining consciousness and if all went well, it was hopefully only a matter of time until Killian could fill in the missing pieces and help them track down his assailants. It also meant that he was one step closer to getting well and returning home but she found her thoughts interrupted yet again as the nurse returned with a middle aged woman clad in a white lab coat over a floral print dress whom Emma assumed was the doctor.

"We'll just need you to step outside for a few minutes," the nurse politely instructed as another person wearing hospital scrubs – presumably another nurse – entered with a tray full of supplies, none of which were even slightly recognizable to Emma. "The doctor just needs to run a few tests. It shouldn't take long and don't worry – he'll be fine."

"Of course," Emma replied cordially, managing a half-hearted smile. She didn't really want to leave, but she certainly could comprehend that she'd be in their way so reluctantly, she lowered his hand back to his side and backed away slowly, not taking her eyes off her husband until she reached the doorway. She would have remained there had the second nurse not followed her, pulling the door closed as Emma was forced out into the hallway.

"What's going on?" came the voice of her son behind her. Before turning to face him, she tried to conceal the forlorn expression she'd been wearing. He took a sip from the beverage cup he was holding as he awaited her response, but he didn't miss the fact that something was upsetting her.

"Hopefully it's something good," she replied. "Killian started to wake up."

"That's great!" the boy exclaimed, but his excitement was dampened when his mother didn't seem to emote the same. "That is a good thing, isn't it?"

"I guess – well, yes – it is a good thing, but he started to choke on the breathing tube trying to breathe on his own so the nurse had to sedate him so he wouldn't try to pull the tube out himself. Maybe it wasn't actually choking, but that's sure what it sounded like…"

"But it's not serious?"

"The nurse didn't make it sound like it was, but when she got back with the doctor, I got shushed out of the room, so I really don't know…" her voice cracked with the reply.

"Well – what does your gut tell you?" he asked her point blank, trying to remind her that her instincts were rarely wrong.

"I guess my gut says he's going to be fine," she laughed, thankful for the kick in the pants to bring her head back from the doldrums. "I just hate that I can't wave my hand and magically make everything better…" With the deputy on guard duty seated within earshot, Emma halted herself before anything else on the subject of magic escaped her mouth, certain that Henry would know precisely what she'd meant.

"It's going to be okay," he reassured his mother once again.

"And that's what I keep telling myself, Kid," she wrapped her arm around his shoulders once again, actually thankful that he'd defied her orders and tagged along so she'd have his support. "But since we're stuck out here for a few minutes, how about you help me find the vending machines? I think I'm in need of some chocolate therapy…"

Returning approximately twenty minutes later, Emma broke the last section of her chocolate bar in half as she strolled up to the re-opened door to Killian's room popping a portion into her mouth and handing the remaining one to Henry who carried her cup of hot chocolate. While it simply wasn't the same without whipped cream and cinnamon on top, it was the best she could find in this floor's vending area. She took a tentative peek inside before entering, hesitant at what might have transpired in the past few moments. The room was once again quiet and one distinct change caught her attention – a clear plastic oxygen mask now covered his nose and mouth. He hadn't yet awakened from the hasty sedative but watching him breathing entirely on his own was a welcome development.

The redheaded nurse, Jackie, if Emma's memory served her correctly, was busy hanging a new bag of fluids and making some adjustments to his IV, unfazed by her audience. She completed her task and picked up Killian's chart from the nightstand where she'd left it, making a few notes before tucking it under her arm.

"I try to sneak away to get some lunch and I miss all the excitement," Jackie said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, although the smirk on her face was clearly intending to set a lighthearted tone. "I see Kelly took good care of your husband while I was gone. The sedative she gave him should be wearing off soon, but don't be surprised if when he comes around that he still isn't able to speak. His throat will probably still be a little irritated, both from the breathing tube and from whatever volume of sea water he tried to inhale."

"Knowing Killian, he won't stay quiet for long. He'll probably be quite determined to make himself heard," Emma said with a snicker.

"I'll bring in some ice chips which will help soothe some of the irritation and he can have small sips of water. We'll see how he does this afternoon but be prepared for a lot of coughing and even possibly vomiting. He still has some water in his lungs that his body will try to expel. It doesn't help that the supplemental oxygen can dry out his throat even more, but he needs it so make sure he keeps the mask on as much as possible so his levels don't start dropping. We don't want to have to put that tube back in."

"I'll try my best, but I'm fully prepared for a battle. He can be a stubborn ass when he wants to be," Emma laughed as the nurse headed toward the door with a grin on her face as well.

"I'm on until four today. If you need me, just press that call button down there by his right hand. I made sure to place it where he could reach it himself if necessary."

"Thank you," Emma said, noting the location of the controller that housed the call button as well as the adjustment levers for the bed as she settled back into the chair beside her husband, not even noticing until her backside hit the seat that the uncomfortable molded plastic chair had been replaced with a wooden one that featured a padded upholstered cushion. It was as if the hospital staff had prepared for her to be sitting there for some time. Henry made his way back to the room's other chair by the window, but that one was still the plastic variety which didn't really concern the teen. He would have been happy to park himself on the laminate tile floor if necessary and if he'd had his choice, he'd stay here with his mom as long as she needed him, but he'd promised to return home to Storybrooke tomorrow where he would likely find himself grounded by his other mom.

All of the day's activity had Emma worn down so she shifted around to find a comfortable position in this new chair, finally leaning in as close as she could to her husband, her shoulder resting against the sturdy plastic railing on the side of the bed. She wanted to get some rest, but instead she found herself staring at Killian and noting all of the changes that had occurred since he'd first begun to regain consciousness. The head of the bed had been lowered to a less severe angle and he was no longer shrouded with the heavy blankets. He was now dressed in a standard pastel green hospital gown and covered with a crisp white sheet and a pale blue lightweight blanket both of which were pulled up to the middle of his chest. She could tell that the gown hadn't been tied behind his neck so they could easily lower it to access the bandages as needed. His right arm lay atop the covers – again likely for ease of access to the IV but his blunted left arm had been modestly tucked under the covers as though they were attempting to spare him any embarrassment or indignity.

For the first time that day, she found herself wondering how her husband had managed the foresight to bring his artificial hand. While McCallen hadn't mentioned the prosthetic he'd been wearing, Emma now realized that he must have had the gloved wooden hand or perhaps he hadn't been wearing one at all – although Jean Scott likely would have commented on something having been amiss had he strolled into her shop missing a hand or if he'd been wearing a hook at the end of his left arm. Based on Jean's own commentary, she'd spent plenty of time gawking at Killian but she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary so his hook must be back on the Jolly Roger – wherever she was moored at the moment.

Emma sighed loudly, overwhelmed with unanswered questions and an absolute mess of conflicting emotions. She was so thrilled to have found him, but simultaneously festering with anger at the men who'd put him here – not to mention the frustration that was reaching a boiling point over those missing hours. How had he gotten from Jean Scott's store out to that island? If he'd been taken out into the bay with a destination of Peaks Island, his abductors must have had a boat. Were they not able to locate the Jolly Roger so they just disposed of him or had he gone on the offensive and ended up failing miserably? All she really knew was that he'd been stabbed in the back – and not likely by accident - and he'd nearly drowned. Had he jumped overboard and somehow swam to she shoreline or had his captors dumped his wounded body into the ocean and he merely washed in with the tide? Did he really ever plan to lead them to his stash of doubloons or was he deliberately leading them astray in an attempt to escape – feeling safest at sea? There was so much she needed him to tell her because conjecture wasn't getting her anywhere. All of the answers lay within Killian Jones.


	6. Chapter 5

_Tuesday afternoon, Portland Medical Center_

At some point, Emma discovered that she'd dozed off, not entirely certain how she'd managed to relax enough to drift off to sleep. Awakened by the sound of a cough, she initially thought it came from Henry but a quick glance over toward the window revealed the teen still fully engaged with whatever was on the screen of his phone. She stretched, forcing herself out of her drowsy state as a second louder cough emanated from her left, followed by a wheezing gasp for air and a rustling of fabric.

"Killian?" she called out to him, spinning around just as he lurched forward with a coughing fit that had her nearly as frightened as his earlier panic with the breathing tube. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed as he fought against the spasms, trying to pull air into his lungs while clutching at his chest as the cough turned into dry heaves. Watching him struggling to breathe was agonizing and suddenly had her wondering why none of these contraptions he was connected to had alerted a nurse to his distress. Shouldn't someone be in here by now? She couldn't just sit here while her husband was suffering so she pressed the call button to the nurses' station, but there was no immediate response. Okay – why wasn't anyone responding? "Henry – I'm going to get help. Stay here with Killian…"

Henry nodded and sprang to his feet as his mother rushed out into the corridor in search of a nurse. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do as he stood there at the bedside worried that his stepfather might tear open his stitches with the force of these spasms but as swiftly as the coughing fit had begun, it gradually subsided. Killian was left struggling to catch his breath – sucking in precious oxygen in rapid, shallow gulps. It was only when he saw the pirate's eyes opening that the boy dared move closer to the bed, allowing Killian to take in the unfamiliar surroundings until his gaze finally settled on his stepson's face – thankful for that one recognizable sight as he raised his hand slowly to lift the irritating plastic mask from his face.

"Henry…?" His voice was raspy, but audible; his question hesitant as though unsure if he'd even be able to speak. "Where the devil am I?"

"A hospital. In Portland," the teen replied.

"Hospital...?" Killian repeated, slowly beginning to make sense of his earlier sensory overload but so much was a confusing haze. "How did I get here? …Did Ursula…"

Ursula? Why was his stepfather asking about the Sea Witch, Henry wondered? Had everything that had happened to him over the past few days made him a little delusional? The question would have to wait for a while though as his mother came through the doorway followed by a taller woman with short raven hair cut in similar style to how his grandmother wore hers.

"Killian!" Emma exclaimed, elated to see her husband awake and at least partially alert, the coughing fit passed for now. She wanted to hug him fiercely, but that didn't seem to be a particularly good idea at the moment, so she settled for giving him a sweet little peck on his forehead as the nurse fussed about him, a somewhat stern scowl on the woman's face that had Emma concerned that something still wasn't right although she ignored that possibility for the present time. "You had me worried with all that coughing. Are you alright?" God, what a dumb question to ask, she thought after the words had crossed her lips.

"I believe so," he replied with a weak attempt at a grin, his hand and arm still pressed against his aching chest while the less than jovial nurse checked his vitals. He was exhausted despite having just awakened and really wanted the dark haired woman to complete whatever tasks she needed and leave them be.

"I'm going to page Dr. Wallace," the nurse stated as she made a couple of adjustments to one of the machines above his head. "She'll want to examine you now that you've regained consciousness, Mr. Jones." Killian groaned his displeasure at the thought of being poked and prodded by various medical instruments, hoping only that this doctor would have a better bedside manner than Whale. The woman then at last left the room in search of this Dr. Wallace, leaving her patient fully aware that another interruption was imminent when all he wanted to do was speak to his wife, certain she'd be able to help him sort out the jumbled disorder that filled his head.

"I'm so glad you're finally awake," Emma gushed after the nurse was out of earshot, her voice echoing with both relief and a hearty dose of uncertainty. "I've got so many questions to ask you, but they can wait until you're ready…"

"Ready?" He didn't quite understand why she would say that, certain that he'd been left with some sort of delirium from whatever events placed him here. "Swan…, I'm so confused…" His chest cavity felt as though it had been ripped open; his throat was as parched and scratchy as though he'd traversed a desert. What the hell had happened to him? "The last thing I remember was hearing the Sea Witch's voice… Was I drowning?"

"The Sea Witch...? Ursula?" Emma questioned aloud, fearful now that his injuries might have been more severe than believed. Had he suffered a head injury that hadn't been detected or been without oxygen too long or had he simply been hallucinating? "Killian – you did nearly drown. Two lobster fishermen found you on a beach, miles from the harbor area where you were last seen…"

"She took me there…?" he mumbled as his coherency began to fade. Emma was poised to ask him why he thought that but all discussion of the Sea Witch was rapidly tabled when Dr. Wallace, the woman in the white lab coat and floral dress who'd been present for his earlier incident strolled in carrying the silver clipboard that contained the collection of various staff notations to his medical files.

"Mr. Jones," she addressed her patient, drawing what was remaining of his fleeting attention. "My name is Dr. Wallace. I've been overseeing your treatment for the past few days…"

"Few days…?" an increasingly befuddled Killian managed to eke out. Every new bit of information was only making matters worse. "How long have I…?" He lacked the energy to finish the query but the doctor understood and finished his sentence.

"How long have you been here? This is your third day here in our facility. Until today, you've been unconscious so we were unable to fully address the severity of your injury. It seems that you're aware of your identity and recognize your family so that's a good sign. You may have limited memories of the trauma you suffered and that's normal."

"Three days…?" His mind was reeling now as he screwed his eyelids closed again, a replay of disjointed images and sounds playing across his subconscious. Had these things really occurred three days ago? There were so many brief flashes – a damaged sail torn lose by a heavy gust of wind, a conversation with an older, blonde woman, blood dripping from his hand and then the sound of the Sea Witch's laughter. He wanted more than anything to ask what all these images meant but when he opened his mouth all that came out were more frenzied convulsions leaving his lungs burning. In a swift motion, Dr. Wallace repositioned the plastic mask he'd removed earlier, holding it firmly in place to force him to breathe in the pure oxygen.

"Enough talking for now," the doctor stated as the coughing fit abated and she took her hand away from the mask. Reaching into the right pocket of her lab coat, she withdrew a pre-filled syringe, removed its cap and injected the contents into his IV. "This should help keep some of the coughing at bay so your body can get some rest. You need to keep this mask in place though. You need the oxygen and if necessary, I'll put the tube back in, but I'd prefer not to do that."

Killian nodded in understanding, exhaustion overwhelming him as he allowed himself to fade back into sleep, smiling at his wife despite her worried visage. His questions would wait for later.

"He wasn't making a lot of sense," Emma informed the doctor. "I mean, something just seemed off…"

"That's not uncommon," the doctor replied. "He's been through a great deal of trauma so it's not surprising that he's experiencing some confusion. He's been unconscious for the better part of three days so we have to give his brain some time to sort out the events. If he continues to have issues with coherency, we'll address it. I gave him some medication that should help relax his diaphragm and cut down on those spasms, but until his lungs are clear of all fluid, you can expect the coughing to continue but we'll have to keep monitoring him because I don't want to risk reopening any of the sutures – especially the ones that repaired the hole in his diaphragm. If you notice him having any difficulty breathing or if the cough becomes uncontrollable, please notify my staff immediately."

Now it was Emma's turn to nod, her earlier elation tempered by the reminder that he wasn't out of the woods yet but for the sake of her son standing behind her, she was going to remain cautiously optimistic.

 _Tuesday evening_

It was close to dinner time when Killian woke again. His bleary eyes opened to the sight of clouds tinged pink and orange by the setting sun just beyond his room's window along with the shadowed form of his stepson becoming visible, dozing peacefully against the wall. He expected to see his wife by his side but despite hearing her voice nearby, she wasn't in his viewable vicinity until he redirected his gaze toward the entryway where she stood in conversation with an unidentified man. Emma was clearly comfortable with the stranger's presence but his attire didn't match that of the medical staff so she must be an acquaintance from somewhere else. He made an attempt to eavesdrop on their whispers but it was far too difficult over the constant hiss of oxygen flowing through the mask and the infuriating beeping of some device behind his head. He shifted his body slightly against the pillows – as much as he could manage without inflicting agony upon himself and it was that subtle movement which garnered his wife's attention.

"Hey," she spoke up loudly, interrupting her chat with the as-yet unidentified person while she returned to his bedside. "Good timing. Deputy McCallen just stopped by at the end of his shift to get an update, so if you're feeling up to it, maybe he can ask a few questions?" Killian started to raise his hand to remove the annoying mask from his face, but hesitated as the doctor's words from earlier came back. "It's okay," she stated as if she'd read his mind. "You can take it off for a few minutes at a time to talk." Sensing his reluctance, she leaned in and eased the mask over his chin and let it hang around his neck. "See – it's okay…," she assured him, her voice soft and gentle to his ear. "I'll bet you're thirsty…" He nodded in affirmation, his brain still foggy as he watched her lift a beige pitcher and pour a small amount of water into a paper cup. She brought it to his lips and held it steady while tipping it forward to offer small sips. His throat burned as he swallowed the first minute amount, but subsequent sips began to quench the fire – at least until the liquid reached his empty stomach and it responded with swells of nausea.

"Thank you," Killian responded when he finally summoned the strength to speak, gently pushing her arm away to let her know he'd had enough water. "I see I've bored the lad…," he grinned as he gestured toward Henry.

"It's been a long day," she said with a somewhat sarcastic smile. "Anyway, Killian, this is Deputy Aaron McCallen with the local Sheriff's department. He's the primary investigator trying to find out what happened to you - starting with who you actually were and how you ended up stabbed and near drowned on one of the islands off the coast. Do you think you'd be up to answering a few of his questions?"

"I'll try," Killian responded, honestly unsure of how much of the events he'd be able to recall, but he'd try his best to remember what he could.

"Mr. Jones, I'll appreciate any additional information you can provide at this point," the young deputy stated as he extended his hand in greeting. Killian returned the gesture and shook the hand of the young, maybe quarter-century old man to whom he'd simply been a nameless victim until hours ago.

"Can't promise it will be much, but as I stated, I will try to remember what I'm capable of," the pirate responded as Emma took a seat beside him, resting her hand atop his forearm in a gesture of support.

"Well, we've gotten a few bits and pieces of Sunday's events so we know that you were taken hostage after a robbery attempt at a convenience shop near the ferry terminal. We know you were there waiting for the ferry to take you back out to Peaks Island, but what we don't know is what happened after you left the store. There are nearly three hours unaccounted for between the robbery and when a couple of fishermen found you on that shore. Is there anything you can remember to help us fill in some of the missing timeline? Whatever you can provide will help us in trying to identify and locate those two men who were responsible…"

"Three," Killian interrupted, correcting the deputy. "There were three individuals involved…"

"Three?" Emma asked, slightly skeptical of his answer as Jean Scott had only recounted two perpetrators and McCallen hadn't mentioned more than two persons on the security video. "Are you sure?" Maybe he was suffering from hallucinations after all…

"Yes – I'm quite certain of it. The two would-be thieves and a third man who'd been hiding on the vessel they used to take us out to sea – some sort of powerful, motor-driven boat…" Emma noticed that her husband didn't describe it as a ship so he was clearly referring to a smaller watercraft.

"Like a speedboat?" McCallen wondered, "or more like a yacht?" Killian had seen enough of these modern types of sea faring vessels in Storybrooke's harbor to have an idea of the differences, but neither fit the description of the craft they'd used.

"No – not a speedboat," Killian replied. "It was larger, the size of a small sailboat but without sails and the hull was not as sleek or fancy as a yacht. I remember seeing fishing equipment, but it wasn't a trawler either. I'm not exactly certain what you would call that type of vessel…"

"Sounds like some sort of pleasure boat," McCallen speculated. "It's not quite that season yet, but I've seen a few of them out around the bay. Could you identify the type of boat if you saw it again?"

"Yes," the pirate assured him. He never forgot an enemy vessel.

"Good. I'll put together some photos of potential matches and contact the harbormaster and see what vessels matching your partial description might have been moored there that morning," McCallen said as he scribbled notes into his memo pad. "Now, back to those three men – did you see any of their faces?"

"Two of the three. I pulled the mask off of one of them and got a good look at him…" Killian paused for a moment to take a few breaths, already succumbing to exhaustion. "Can't quite say the same for the man who stabbed me because I was already fighting to remain conscious after he climbed out of the hold, but I know I would recognize him if I saw his face again."

"Do you think you got a decent enough look at him to describe him to a sketch artist if we sent one over?" Killian nodded an affirmative, his chest aching from exertion and his throat raw once again. "Great," McCallen sensed that he needed to wrap up the inquiry soon. "I'll contact the forensic artist we use and see if I can get her over here tomorrow to work up a sketch and get the image out to law enforcement as quickly as we can. We'll also continue to keep a deputy posted outside that door at all times…"

"You do know that isn't really necessary…," Emma countered, intending to remind him that she was a sheriff herself and was more than capable of dealing with anyone who'd attempt to come after her husband, but she stopped short of actually saying the words.

"My boss would have my head if I even thought about pulling the guard," the deputy stated, almost as if he'd read her thoughts. "Mr. Jones is the sole person able to identify his assailants and we intend to protect him until either those individuals are captured or until he's well enough to leave Portland – although we'd certainly prefer if you'd stay here until these men are brought to justice."

Almost in unison, Emma and Killian both shook their heads. This poor young deputy would likely have a heart attack if he knew who he was really working with. He was still young and idealistic, not yet possessing the jaded nature of experience. He had no idea that the man he was working so hard to protect was actually a fearsome pirate captain. He only believed that Killian had an admiration and affinity for classical pirates – not that he actually was one of them.

"Well, we appreciate the gesture," Emma replied graciously.

"I'm taking a shift myself this evening," McCallen advised them. "I'll be back here around 10PM. If you think of anything that might be helpful, please let me know, okay?"

"Of course," she smiled, answering the question for Killian as she knew his strength was fading rapidly. "Thank you for everything today, Deputy McCallen." McCallen returned the thanks as he said his farewell before leaving the room. Emma could hear part of a conversation out in the corridor as the deputy paused to speak with his colleague for a moment then departed to the elevator. The bits and pieces she heard were about their upcoming shift change and a reminder to check all identification badges.

"Seems like an earnest young fellow," Killian whispered as he noticed his stepson shift slightly in his sleep. He didn't want to wake the boy so he lowered his voice which proved to be more difficult than he'd expected. He wanted desperately to take a deep breath but he couldn't get his lungs to comply and before he could even contemplate raising the oxygen mask back over his nose and mouth, Emma had already anticipated the need and repositioned it for him.

"Breathe," she said it like an order, firmly, yet still lovingly. "You've been talking too much."

"But I like to talk," he mumbled in protest as she lowered the mask which only elicited a glare from her jade green eyes as she made sure the elastic strap was tightened to hold it in place.

"How about I do the talking for a bit? You can think of ways to reply without speaking, okay?" Too weary to argue, he responded with a sarcastic grin and a simple nod of his head. "Okay – the store owner, a Ms. Jean Scott, told us that you were waiting for the ferry back to Peaks Island. Is that where you left the Jolly Roger?" The slight dip of his chin confirmed her belief. "I'm guessing it's cloaked using Cora's old spell?" This time, he cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow as if in disbelief that she'd even ask that question. Of course she's cloaked, he wanted to say, but his body language seemed to make the statement clear. "Okay, okay…," she chuckle. "I figured you would. Just had to be sure." Then she changed the direction of her questions. "You said the third man was the one who stabbed you but you got the mask off of one of them?" He nodded yet again as she pointed to the still painfully swollen bruises around his right eye. "Does one of them have a matching black eye?" His laughter and proud grin were enough of an answer to that one so now she had to get serious again. "Earlier, when you first woke, you mentioned Ursula. You were just regaining consciousness so we were a little concerned that you might have been delusional or even experiencing hallucinations. Be honest with me – did you really think you saw Ursula?"

This time, he lifted the mask off his face to verbalize his response. "She rescued me," he stated flatly.

"Are you really sure? Killian, honestly, you were rescued by a couple of lobster fishermen who spotted you unconscious on a deserted beach…"

"How do you think I managed to get to that beach?" he persisted. "She pulled me out of the water and got me to the shore before I drowned. I know I wasn't hallucinating…" Getting frustrated that his wife wasn't believing his tale, he started to feel the coughing fit coming on before it hit, but there was no time to prevent it. His chest constricted making the simple task of just filling his lungs with air a difficult task and all Emma could do after replacing the oxygen was watch helplessly as he fought through the spasms until they passed leaving him gasping for air.

"That's enough for now," she insisted. "Do you want me to get the nurse?" He quickly shook his head as his body gradually relaxed and allowed him to shrink back against the mattress. "Okay then – just rest," she said as she slid closer to him on the narrow bed, pulling him closer to her until his head rested on her left shoulder, holding him tightly as his chest continued to heave. "I've got you…"

He allowed himself to collapse against her as he waited for his racing heart to slow and for the searing pain in his lungs to fade. He tried to sleep, but his brain wanted to try and replay that fateful afternoon. He remembered attempting to tread water for a while after he'd been thrown overboard, but too far from shore and defenseless against the bitterly cold water and lashing swells, he should have drowned. He was semi-conscious and rapidly succumbing to hypothermia so common sense would dictate that he truly should have drowned. How did he manage to get to that beach? Had his memory of Ursula aiding him been nothing but his imagination? A deluded vision dreamed up by his failing mind?

He had to get the memories to return – at least those from the moment that those two masked men shoved him onto the motor boat after he'd promised to take them to his ship using more doubloons as a lure. But what had happened next?


	7. Chapter 6

_Sunday Afternoon, Casco Bay_

Countless decades lived as a pirate had undoubtedly honed Killian Jones' ability to think quickly so recalling that in addition to the local currency that Emma insisted he carry, he also had one of his plentiful doubloons tucked away in his pocket and that provided him with an idea. The two would-be thieves were displeased with the fact that the shop's proprietor had less than one hundred dollars in her till and being the weekend, had already banked the prior week's profits on Friday evening. There was little gain for them so they'd turned into bickering bullies, threatening the woman with harm until Killian stepped in hoping the shiny coin he possessed would provide both a temporary distraction and serve as a lure to get them out of the confines of this little shop.

"Leave the lady alone," he spat at one of the masked men, positioning himself between the beleaguered shopkeeper and the robbers.

"Well, aren't you the chivalrous type?" the bullies of the two men mocked. "We'll deal with you in a moment. Right now, our business is with the little lady here…"

"No – your 'business' is going to be with me," Killian stated forcefully, unfazed by their bravado. He'd faced far tougher foes than these two, but the trick remained finding a point where he would gain the upper hand. "I'll say it again – leave the lady alone," he repeated his earlier statement, tone still unabashedly even and stance unwavering. "And I won't repeat myself again…"

"You won't repeat yourself?" the apparent leader of the two thieves sounded amused by Killian's brash attitude. Who did this guy think he was – some kind of fairytale hero defending the damsel in distress? "Why don't you back off before you get hurt, mister. We're here to get some money out of her and we'll damned well do it one way or another…"

"You're certainly going about this in the wrong way then," the pirate stated with a cocky smirk – a smirk that immediately resulted in a fist colliding with the right side of his face, knocking him back a couple of steps. He managed to stay on his feet and proceeded to start laughing which only further incensed the masked man.

"Wrong way?" the man shouted angrily. "I'll show you the wrong way!" He charged toward Killian but didn't get far as his partner intervened before the situation got entirely out of control.

"Look – we came for money. Let's take the lady and drag her to an ATM or let's just take what we've got and get the hell out of here…"

"So, you'll harass this poor woman for such a small score?" Killian chuckled. "A few of her hard-earned dollars…?" He started to slip his hand into his pocket only to have a gun barrel shoved into his face. "Easy – I don't have a weapon," he insisted as he raised his hand in mock surrender. "I was just going to retrieve something from my coat pocket that might be of greater interest…"

"And what the hell would you have that you think would be of 'greater interest' to us?"

"I've a gold coin in my right hand pocket," Killian informed them. "Check for yourself if you don't believe me," he offered. The more aggressive of the two gave a nod and motioned for his meeker partner to approach. With Killian's hand still raised, he shoved his own into the right side pocket of the pirate's jacket and retrieved the promised object – a single, solid gold doubloon. He held up the prize for his partner to see while giving Killian a shove backward. Satisfied that they'd taken the bait, Killian lowered his hand to his now throbbing right eye, delicately prodding the tender, soon to be black and blue skin.

"How do we know that's real?" the brutish one asked skeptically.

"It's as real as they get," the pirate assured them. "And I've more just like that…"

"More?" Killian could see the eagerness in the masked man's eyes, but still a hint of disbelief. "Where?"

"Back on my vessel… But if you're still more interested in this poor shopkeeper's meager bankroll, so be it…" Killian gave them a crooked grin, infuriating the lead robber who lunged forward to grab a fistful of the pirate's vest.

"You have more of these coins on your boat?" he demanded as he yanked an unimpressed Killian toward him until they were practically standing in each other's space.

"Is that not what I said?" the pirate responded sarcastically, satisfied that his tactic had worked. Now he was the one plotting their course.

"Where's your boat?"

"She's anchored off the coast of Peaks Island. I'd been awaiting the ferry to return to my vessel when you lads barged in."

"Well, good… We can give you a ride out there to relieve you of those coins. We've got a boat docked right out here in the harbor."

"Then I suppose you need me more than you need this lass," Killian began, the advantage slipping further into his favor. "Leave her be and I'll direct you to my vessel and the rest of my coins."

"That's a pretty bold offer…," the masked man chided. "What if you're lying to us?"

"Aren't you the one brandishing the pistol?" the pirate countered snidely. "Guess there's only one way to find out…"

"Let's go then, wise guy," the hotheaded one stated, waving the gun mere inches in front of Killian's face before muscling the pirate around, spinning him toward the shop's entrance as the barrel was now shoved against Killian's spine.

"What about her?" the other thief wondered, gesturing toward the store owner as he tagged along behind his partner and their captive.

"Leave her. Even if she calls the cops, we'll be miles out into the bay before they get here."

Being led at gunpoint along a still predominately deserted harbor front wasn't particularly the way Killian had planned to return to the Jolly Roger but it was preferable to being trapped inside the tiny store with few options available to him. He hoped that the shopkeeper had sought aid from the local authorities, but he didn't expect anyone to arrive in time to assist him so he was left to his own devices. Neither of his captors gave off an air that they were comfortable with the sea which the pirate intended to use to his advantage. To these two masked men, a boat taking them across the bay was merely transportation but Killian was at home on the ocean waves - which for him, was a definite asset to his present situation.

The craft that they intended to make their getaway in was foreign to this old pirate. It was only about a third of the length of the Jolly Roger, hewn from some shiny white synthetic substance instead of wood or steel. What was likely the vessel's name, DONDONN12 – ridiculous as it might have been - adorned the stern, emblazoned in bold, scarlet script. The helm or whatever the steering mechanism was called on this sort of vessel was in an elevated, partially enclosed compartment above the main deck and as they approached, Killian noted at least two hatches that likely led to a lower deck or cargo hold.

"Onboard now!" he was ordered, nearly losing his balance as one of his abductors shoved him toward the rickety metal bridge that served as a gangplank before another blow to his shoulder blade propelled him forward. "Go fire up the engines," the masked man shouted to his partner before returning his attention to their hostage. "I suppose you know how to untie those lines?" Killian nodded and as instructed, unhitched the heavy ropes mooring the vessel to the dock, hearing a loud roar then rumbles of what must have been the craft's engines to his left. If the noise of the engines was an indication of performance, this must have been a swift vessel even if she barely seemed seaworthy. Once both the bow and stern lines were loosened, the masked man brandished the pistol before Killian yet again. He unceremoniously shoved his prisoner down onto one of the built-in benches stretching toward the bow. "Get comfortable."

Recognizing many of the land forms he'd passed earlier that morning while traversing the bay from Peaks Island, Killian attempted to gauge how far from the harbor they'd traveled. He wasn't certain how much time had transpired either, merely guessing that it had been about a quarter-hour. The two masked men holding him captive had taken turns manning the helm, relying heavily on the small screen of an electronic device to navigate their course amongst the islands. They might not have been true sailors but they were at least moderately adept at operating the craft.

He had informed his captors that his ship was anchored off the coast of Peaks, which hadn't been a lie, but the pirate had absolutely no intent of bringing the thieves anywhere near the Jolly Roger. He sat quietly, studying their movements, biding his time as he awaited just the right distraction to make his move, feeling the weight of the trusty little dagger he was carrying safely pressed between his ankle and the leather of his boot. Neither of the two anonymous men had bothered to search him for weapons which led Killian to believe that they weren't particularly skilled in criminal exploits either – again something this seasoned pirate would capitalize on. When they'd barged into the store earlier, they'd appeared to be deliberate in their actions – locking the door and confiscating phones – yet they didn't recognize value. Their focus had solely been the cash register and safe until Killian had offered the doubloon. They'd either overlooked or perhaps ignored the three valuable rings he was wearing – the one on his index finger alone worth far more than their miniscule take.

Before interjecting himself into the fracas, he'd paid close attention to the actions of these two shrouded men. The burlier one had been making all of the decisions, hyper-focused on the shopkeeper herself. The other was less forceful, clearly there as a mere sidekick. If he could manage to overpower the aggressive one, Killian suspected the partner would be unlikely to pose a threat. He just needed the right opening to strike and as an experienced seafarer he knew the rolling ocean swells would soon provide just that window of opportunity.

Brazenly, he stood and took several steps toward the enclosure protecting the vessel's helm where the leader of the two thieves stood guard, none too pleased to see his hostage approaching him.

"Thought I told you to get comfortable…" the masked man growled.

"Don't suppose there's a head on this vessel, is there?" Killian asked as the pistol was raised toward his chest.

"What the hell are you talking about?" the gunman asked, clearly perplexed by the query.

"A head? A bathroom?" the pirate stated, perturbed by this sorry excuse for a sailor not knowing a rather basic, although decidedly modern nautical term.

"We'll be out to Peaks Island in less than thirty minutes. You can hold it."

"Thirty minutes is a very long time…"

"Not my problem," was the flat response Killian received.

"It likely could become your problem, mate," Killian pressed, intentionally popping the T to further antagonize his captor.

"Go sit down," the man ordered, growing increasingly incensed by this obnoxious hostage. "Our agreement was that we leave the lady alone so you take us to the rest of that gold. 'Never said anything about creature comforts, 'mate'." He repeated Killian's sarcastic tone right down to that emphasized consonant.

"Think I'd rather just stand for a bit," the pirate grinned, defying the order. "Have to get my sea legs back. Besides, it's not like you gents have any inkling where you're headed. Arguing with me won't get you to that gold…"

"Maybe we'll just beat you into submission," the thief said as he signaled to his partner to put the controls on autopilot.

"Hardly concerned about that," Killian practically snorted. "My lovely wife has a far more fearsome left cross than you…"

And there was the tipping point. The enraged masked man charged at Killian, but the pirate was well prepared for this attack, swiftly dodging his abductor as the boat listed hard to port when cresting over a large swell. The aggressor lost his balance to the choppy seas and stumbled, squandering his grip on the gun as it skittered across the teak planks. He scrambled to retrieve his weapon but Killian was faster, fetching the pistol and heaving it over the side to level the playing field. His opponent immediately came up swinging, connecting his left fist with the pirate's open mouth, leaving his lip split open and bleeding. Killian took the blow in stride, smirking as he licked the coppery blood from his lower lip before retaliating with a solid right of his own, punching the still faceless man in the jaw then repeating with an even harder blow that made his knuckles sting but successful dropped the thief unconscious at his feet.

The more subdued man had cowered near the helm during the skirmish, genuinely surprised that the seemingly compliant English gentleman they'd taken hostage had just turned on them with the agility and skill of a professional fighter. Before the second man could react, Killian cornered him against the bulkhead and yanked off his black knit ski mask, revealing the petrified face of a young blond haired man not more than twenty five years old who was likely more of a timid college student who got dragged into something stupid than a hardened criminal. Tossing the mask aside, Killian crouched to retrieve the dagger from his boot and directed its business end toward the frightened young man standing before him.

"I believe it's time to turn this vessel around," Killian stated. "I'll be talking over the helm of this craft and…" But he didn't finish the statement as he halted mid-sentence, startled by an unfamiliar voice that resonated from behind him.

"Will you now?"

It was the first time that morning that Killian's blood ran cold with fear, but his brain wasn't allowed time to focus on the unknown voice before he found himself crying out in agony – a sudden, searing flash of pain radiating through his torso. He couldn't stop his body's reaction to the trauma, his legs suddenly too weak to support him, hand trembling so much that he relinquished his grip on the dagger. The blade clattered to the deck just before his knees gave out sending him crashing to the teakwood planks. He lowered his chin to allow a trickle of blood to trail out of his mouth now seeing the pointed end of a different blade jutting out from his ribcage. Hunched over while struggling to remain kneeling, his hand tried desperately to reach the handle of the knife protruding from his back, but his fingertips couldn't find purchase.

A third man. He hadn't factored in the possibility of a third…

"He saw my face," Killian heard the blond thief he'd just unmasked say worriedly as he found himself struggling to breathe, fighting back swells of nausea and forced to verbalize his anguish once again when the blade was drawn from his body as violently as it had been thrust into it.

"Your own damned fault," the unseen man with the knife scolded the young man as he stepped around his victim's collapsing form, careful to avoid the spreading crimson stains pooling on the deck. Killian's strength was waning rapidly as he could no longer maintain his balance, collapsing forward, but managing to hold up his head long enough to catch a fleeting glance at the man who'd stabbed him before his vision began to blur. Struggling to remain conscious, he noted that this man was older than the others – fifties or maybe sixties, but it was the way he spoke to the two bumbling thieves that provided the pirate with more information. The tone was authoritative – a man used to being in charge. "You and your partner over there were supposed to bring the Scott woman out here and intimidate her. Who is this guy? Kidnapping a complete stranger wasn't part of my plan…"

"The woman didn't have anything valuable," the blond man tried to explain. "We barely got a hundred bucks outta her. This guy was in the store and had a huge gold coin in his pocket - worth a hell of a lot more… He was supposed to lead us out to his boat where he had more…"

"And you two idiots believed that?" the older man chastised, shaking his head in disgust. "I'll have to find another way to deal with Ms. Scott since you two screwed everything up."

"We did what you asked – we robbed her and got her all riled up…"

"You were supposed to scare her – that's what I paid for, not this. It wasn't about money. There are things more valuable than whatever coins this guy offered you."

"I'm sorry – what do you want us to do with him then?" the younger man asked timidly as he gestured toward their barely conscious hostage as his partner came to, massaging his aching jaw which would soon bear the imprint of Killian's knuckles.

"You both can clean up the mess you've made," the older man stated firmly. "Toss him overboard. He'll either drown or bleed to death, but either way, we'll be long gone and he won't be around to identify us. Then make sure you scrub all of the blood off of my deck. It had better be spotless."

"Yes, sir," the young man nodded vigorously in agreement as his boss made his way to the helm and took over the controls, easing back on the throttle to slow the craft while his partners lifted their wounded prisoner and heaved his semi-conscious body over the railing on the port side. They never even heard the splash as Killian broke through the surface of the frigid water as the engines roared to life sending them speeding away.

The shock of striking the icy salt water stunned the pirate for a few seconds, but a lifetime spent at sea reminded him he needed to gather his senses if he was to survive. He forced himself back to the surface, gulping in equal parts seawater and air while struggling to keep his chin above the swells. Even if he hadn't been wounded, he was intelligent enough to know that his muscles would tire quickly in these cold temperatures and if he lost consciousness, he was a dead man for certain. He knew they'd passed by one of the smaller islands only minutes ago but while he could make out what was likely the shoreline on the western horizon, he had enough sense to realize it could be merely a hallucination. If it indeed was the shore he spied, was it within his reach? The closest object within his grasp right now was a red and white buoy bobbing maybe a hundred yards away. If he could make it to that buoy, he would at least have something to cling to – something to keep him afloat - although he immediately regretted the fact that he was wearing the prosthetic hand instead of his hook which would have been far more useful right now.

Despite the rough waves tossing him and the blinding pain in his chest, Killian managed to half float, half swim to the buoy, but by the time he approached it and attempted to reach for the metal bar that encircled it, he couldn't get his weary arm to comply. All he managed to take hold of was a dangling oblong scrap of bright blue fabric that had been tied to that same bar. He tugged on the fabric hoping to teeter the buoy toward him, but it tore free instead, plunging him back into the waves. Still undaunted, he made a second attempt to grasp the bar but couldn't put more than a fingertip onto it forcing him to concede that the sea may have gotten the better of him this time. His eyes fell closed, picturing his wife's golden tresses, jade green eyes and sparking smile as he gave in to the pull of the blackness…

Yet somehow he didn't slip beneath the waves and drop to the depths of Davy Jones' Locker. A familiar cackle – nearby, yet out of his line of sight and the sensation of a sinewy, scaly appendage wrapping about his upper body brought him around and as he compelled his eyelids to open, he found that distant shoreline was suddenly within range. Certain he was hallucinating, he couldn't fathom how he'd gotten this far only now his chest was being constricted even tighter as he found himself being lifted from the sea and almost playfully tossed onto the sandy beach. Once he was safely on land, the appendage released its grip and retreated, leaving him a soggy heap on the shore.

Mustering his remaining energy, he shifted onto his left side and battled through muscle fatigue and so much discomfort to raise his head enough to gaze out to the bay. He caught only a fleeting glimpse of a familiar face, hearing the sound of her cackle as she spewed something about him being the luckiest damned pirate she'd ever encountered. Then with a flick of her powerful tentacles, she vanished into the depths as he lowered his head and faded into the welcoming bliss of unconsciousness.


	8. Chapter 7

_Tuesday evening, Portland Medical Center_

Killian woke with a start, soaked with sweat and trembling as his mind forced him to relive those events in the form of an all too vivid dream – or more correctly a too real nightmare. He knew his heart was racing so he tried to focus on relaxing, slowing the thundering inside his chest before it garnered the unwanted attention of the nurse. Pushing through the aches and pains, he made himself take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he leaned forward, determined to force himself out of this hospital bed. It wasn't as easy as he thought it might be but he somehow managed to swing his legs over the side, his bare toes scarcely grazing the chilly tile floor when he felt the warm touch of a hand on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" his wife asked, her voice sounding quite concerned.

"I don't bloody know," he sighed, not entirely certain how to reply to her question.

"Are you alright? You were twitching and shaking in your sleep."

"Just a dream, Love," he stated rather unconvincingly. "I'm fine."

"I doubt that," she replied, rolling her eyes in disbelief. "It's never 'just' anything with you. Tell me what it was…"

"Nothing more than reliving being stabbed in the back and then nearly drowning," he grumbled. "It was a lot to digest, however as disturbing as it may have been, it might have stirred up some memories I hadn't recalled earlier."

"Okay…," she hesitated, debating whether to allow him to continue and potentially provide some new details or make him lie back down and discuss things in the morning, finally allowing curiosity to prevail. "What did you remember?"

"I suppose I should start from the beginning," he said as he attempted to raise his legs back up into the bed as it sunk in that Emma wasn't going to allow him to leave these confines just yet, finding it even more difficult with gravity opposing him. She noticed his frustration and provided a helping hand to get him comfortable and back under the bedcovers once again. "Thank you," he said with a disgruntled sigh, hating to be so needy as it then dawned on him that his stepson wasn't present in the room with them. "Wasn't Henry here earlier? I wasn't imagining that?"

"You're welcome, and no, you weren't imagining Henry. He went for a walk a few minutes ago. Pretty sure he just went down to the lounge so he could talk to Violet without his mother overhearing. And you – you don't need to push yourself… You don't have to talk about this right now if you don't want to…"

"I'd rather share as much as possible before I find myself hacking up my bloody insides again… Now..., let's see if I can piece all of these jumbled images and the like together into something that makes sense…" He squeezed his eyelids closed momentarily, attempting to formulate coherent thoughts from hazy recollection. "I offered to give the two thieves the doubloons I've stashed away on the Jolly Roger if they'd leave the shopkeeper be, but we never made it back out to where I left her anchored…"

"Okay, that much we knew. Do you remember anything about what happened after you boarded their boat?"

"Aye," he said with a subtle nod. "The seas became rougher as we rounded one of the small islands out in the bay. I could sense that the man at the helm reduced our speed as the waves swelled. So, I took advantage of the choppy sea to antagonize the masked man aiming the pistol at me, goading him into a physical attack as we crested over a sizable swell, causing him to lose the weapon which I retrieved and disposed of. A couple of quick rights to my opponent's jawline put him out of commission so I turned my attention to the second thief. The other one wasn't aggressive – cowering against the bulkhead as I pulled his mask off to reveal the face of an anxious young man. I was about to take over the vessel's helm when I felt the sting of the blade through my back and then looked down to see it protruding from my chest…"

"Killian…, you don't have to…" she reminded him, reading the visible anguish on his face and hearing his voice crack before he paused. "You can stop…"

He only shook his head and continued, retelling the events gradually bolstering his strength. "As I collapsed, I saw the face of the third man – an older man, very different in demeanor than the others. He was far more methodical - clearly used to getting his way – not unlike the Crocodile in that respect… I heard them arguing for a few moments before they tossed me overboard and sped away…"

"And it was after they left you to drown that you think you saw Ursula?" Emma wondered, still on the fence as to whether she believed he wasn't hallucinating by that point.

"I'm certain she was there, Swan. I wasn't near enough to shore to have made it by myself. I was bleeding and quickly succumbing to hypothermia. I'd already failed at an attempt to cling to a buoy that was close enough to reach, but I hadn't the strength to grasp the metal bar wrapped around it…" He took another pause, his tale sounding daft to his own ears so how would he ever convince his wife? "I'd consigned myself to my fate when I felt something surround me – something that lifted me from the water and carried me to the shoreline…"

"A tentacle?"

"Aye – a tentacle. And yes, I know what if feels like to be in the grip of a sea creature's tentacles. It's a sensation one doesn't soon forget, but I also saw a glimpse of her face as I lay on that beach. She was laughing, calling me lucky…"

"Well, I would definitely say that you were pretty damned lucky to have the Sea Witch rescue you," she grinned, eliciting a weak smile from her husband. "But back to the third man – do you think he was the one who organized the robbery?"

"I've no doubt he was the person in charge, but I'm quite certain this wasn't actually a robbery…"

"What do you mean?" It was already one of the theories that she and Deputy McCallen were working with, so she was rather curious how Killian had come to the same conclusion with what he knew.

"My memories may be slightly suspect at the moment, but I'm certain that the older man asked the younger one why they'd brought me instead of the shopkeeper…"

"The shopkeeper – Ms. Scott? They'd intended to kidnap her?"

"I don't know… That's part of what's bothering me...," he replied as he raised his hand to massage an aching temple, fatigue beginning to take its toll yet again. "Before I offered the doubloon, she'd already informed them that she didn't have a lot of cash in the shop. Her till and safe were both mostly empty so they'd eagerly took the bait when I offered my gold, but that apparently wasn't part of the older man's plan."

"I think we need to speak to Deputy McCallen and give him this new information and we'll probably need to have another talk with Jean Scott because this could be a new angle for motivation."

"Perhaps," he sighed, his wounded chest aching from the strain of all of too much talking. Emma recognized that drained expression and decided that he'd done enough for now.

"You look completely wiped. Why don't you let me call the nurse and see if they can give you something for the pain so you can get some rest?"

"You do realize I was asleep for more than two days, correct?"

"Yeah, well, you're still gonna need a lot more of it so your body can heal and so we can get you back home." As she stood, she leaned in over him to tuck the blanket tighter around him as he grumbled some nonsense about being coddled. She planted a brief kiss on his lips before replacing the oxygen mask, completely ignoring his further protests.

Not long after the evening nurse agreed to give Killian a different pain killer to soothe some of his discomfort, he drifted soundly back to sleep, thankfully without suffering another coughing attack. Emma had dozed off herself as well, taking advantage of a few minutes of peace,yet waking to the rumble of her stomach. It hadn't been an easy task to find a comfortable position in the unforgiving chair, but she'd somehow managed. Now, as she stirred, she glanced down at her watch to see that it was after 9PM. No wonder her stomach was growling. She'd been so focused on taking care of Killian, she'd forgotten to grab dinner, suddenly remembering that her son probably hadn't eaten yet either – although she couldn't remember if he'd returned to the room.

She sat up, her eyes drawn to the other chair by the window where she saw Henry leaning against the wall, the glow of his iPhone screen giving his face an unnatural bluish pallor. He must have snuck in while she was napping, surprising her that she'd been sleeping so soundly to not have heard him enter.

"Sorry, Kid," she apologized as she stood up, taking the few steps over to him to yank one of the headphones from his ear. "Guess I slept through dinner, didn't I?"

"You looked exhausted when I got back so I didn't want to bother you. I just went back down to the cafeteria and got us some sandwiches," he pointed a white square takeout container on the counter by the sink with a knowing smile. "It's turkey, not grilled cheese, but I thought it would keep better. There are some potato chips in there too, although I'll admit I ate most of them."

"Thanks," she laughed while retrieving the container before settling back down at her husband's bedside. "Turkey will do just fine." She flipped open the lid to reveal what must have been half of a submarine sandwich with lettuce and what appeared to be cheddar or American cheese poking from beneath the bread. While it certainly wouldn't have been her first choice, she didn't really care what She was eating right now as long as it appeased her protesting stomach. She devoured it quickly – perhaps a tad too quickly as she later cursed herself for eating so fast when plagued by a miserable bout of heartburn. Gulping down half a bottle of water in an attempt to quell the fire, she happened to catch a glimpse of her son snickering at her while popping his earbud back in but she decided to pretend she hadn't noticed.

Turning her attention toward her sound asleep husband, she placed her hand atop his and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, questioning for a moment if his skin felt a little warmer than earlier. She could hear his slight wheezing as his compromised lungs fought to bring in enough air, remembering that he had reclined the bed a few inches earlier so he didn't feel as though he were falling over when he slept in the upright position. It was significantly easier for him to breathe when his head and chest were raised into that sitting position so she hunted for the controls and brought the bed back to the higher position. He didn't awaken with the movement but he did turn back toward her making it easier to see the crimson flush across his cheeks. The room wasn't exceptionally warm but his temperature definitely had changed.

Immediately, she started scanning the displays of all of the electronic devices that surrounded him seeking out the one that was supposed to be monitoring his body temperature. He'd arrived hypothermic so she knew the nurses had been watching him closely but she found herself overwhelmed by so many different numbers flashing in front of her. She didn't know what most of them meant but she trusted her instinct when it said something was amiss so she didn't hesitate when she smashed her thumb onto the nurses' station call button again, hoping someone would respond faster this time.

"Mr. Jones? How can I help you this evening?" a tinny female voice sounded through the speaker.

"This is Mrs. Jones and something's wrong – he's way too warm…"

"I'll be right there," was the reply and true to her word, the brunette nurse who had provided the pain reliever earlier scurried into the room, meeting Emma at her patient's side. She swiped a device across Killian's temple while scrutinizing the monitors above him trying to determine why she hadn't received an alert. She verified all devices were properly connected – no wires loose or missing so there didn't appear to be reason for a malfunction but the thermometer in her hand and the monitor to Killian's left both displayed the same reading – 103.2 degrees.

The nurse frowned at the numbers, but wasn't entirely surprised by them. When he'd arrived, they'd known he was highly susceptible to infection but the question now was if it was indeed an infection, where had it developed? Was it pneumonia attacking his lungs? Was his wound compromised or was this something entirely different? She raised her stethoscope to her ears, listening for any unusual sounds from her patient's lungs, but everything sounded relatively normal – at least for someone who'd nearly drowned three days ago. His breaths were still somewhat labored, but she highly doubted he'd developed pneumonia. Had a day shift nurse missed a warning sign earlier when she'd changed out the dressing on his wounds?

"His lungs sound okay to me so I'm going to check both of his wounds. Let's start though by getting those covers off of him…" Emma was already tugging off the sweat dampened cotton blanket and sheet, leaving them pooled at his feet. The sheet beneath him and the thin gown that hung from his shoulders were equally soaked. The nurse lowered the gown to his waist to have full view of and access to the bandages being careful not to disturb any of the wires and sensors still adhered to his skin. Unlike the younger nurse earlier, she hadn't taken the time to draw the curtain but modesty was hardly a consideration at the moment. As Emma hovered at the end of the bed, the nurse reached into a box of pale blue latex gloves mounted on the wall above the nightstand, rapidly pulling on a pair before peeling back the tape securing the gauze patch to his chest. The incision and sutures showed some redness and a bit of mild bruising, but the healing tissue wasn't displaying any unusual discharge or unexpected discoloration so the nurse carefully replaced the dressing. "This one looks like it's healing just fine. Now, let's see what the one on his back looks like…"

She didn't enlist Emma's assistance to support Killian's upper body as she leaned him forward, wrapping her own arm across his upper chest, just below his collarbone while her left hand pulled back the upper corner of the smaller gauze bandage covering the entrance wound. This nurse clearly had more experience in this procedure – or was just physically stronger, but it worried Emma that her husband hadn't awakened even while being slightly manhandled. Emma didn't have an angle where she could see the wound on his back this time so she had to go by the nurse's change of expression to judge the situation.

"Does it look alright?" she asked without really thinking, the question popping out of her mouth to Emma's instant regret.

"I'm not sure," the nurse responded, covering up the wound as she guided Killian's unconscious form back against the mattress. "There's a lot of swelling around the entry wound but it could be due to irritation or pressure from his own body weight. It's a little tricky with wounds to the back. Knife wounds are particularly nasty too because the blade can push dirt and bacteria inside the body cavity so whatever is causing this reaction might not be visible from the outside. I'll talk to the doctors but they'll probably want to start him on a more aggressive antibiotic and I'm pretty sure they may want to attempt an MRI as well. For now, I can get him some medication to help lower the fever and we'll get some cooling packs brought in."

"Is there anything I can do?" Emma wondered, suddenly cognizant of the fact that her teenaged son was still present in the room, likely having just witnessed the disturbing sight of his stepfather's incision and overheard a good portion of this conversation.

"When he wakes, try to keep him from overexerting himself for a while – at least for the next twelve hours or so – and that includes talking too much. He really just needs rest more than anything and since this is the first day that he's been conscious, we've obviously had to adapt our plans for treating him. It's wonderful that he's able to communicate, but now he's going to want to get up, walk around but he still has a lot of healing to do. I'm sure he's anxious to get home, but we don't want to rush things. Anyway, I'll be back in a few minutes with the fever reducer."

"Thank you," Emma responded, partially relieved as the nurse peeled off the gloves and hung her stethoscope around her neck before heading off to locate the necessary medication. Her words had left Emma reeling a bit until she finally brought her head back to the realization that while the day had been a flurry of activity, it had really only been a matter of hours since they'd located Killian and even less since he'd awakened. Her perception of time seemed so off as she remembered it was now getting late in the evening and she hadn't even given a thought to where she and Henry were going to spend the night. As Killian's wife and a member of law enforcement, she could argue her point to stay, but the hospital would likely frown on a 15 year old staying here. All she knew was that with Killian fighting a fever and definitely not out of danger, she wasn't leaving him tonight without a fight.

"Mom? What's going on?" Henry finally spoke up, having watched in silence from his spot by the window as his mother called for help. He wanted to pretend that this wasn't serious, but all he'd just seen transpire had been a bit alarming.

"I'm not entirely sure myself, Kid," Emma sighed. "Killian's running a fever that these machines didn't warn anyone about and it's probably from an infection, they just aren't sure yet. The nurse went to get him some medication to hopefully bring the fever down, but that's probably just the start…"

"But other than the cough, he seemed okay earlier?"

"He's still really sick. I had to remind myself of that too and remember that it could be a while before he's back to himself – although as you know, Killian being himself could prove to be a huge challenge to him getting better…" She dropped back into the chair, body and mind exhausted. "Just how much of all of that did you see and hear?"

"You mean did I see that huge cut across Killian's chest when the nurse pulled back the bandage?"

"Yeah, that's part of it…"

"It's okay, Mom. You know I've seen worse," the teen responded sincerely and Emma really couldn't argue with that. No 15 year old boy should have seen some of the horrors he'd experienced – fairytale or not. "Can I ask you a sorta weird question though?"

"Of course – anything," she assured him, although certainly not expecting the inquiry that followed.

"When the nurse had you pull back the covers, was there actually a plastic tube or something coming out from beneath the gown, between his legs…" Henry paused a moment, instantly blushing as he struggled for a way to phrase the rest of the question to his mother whose cheeks were already reddening with the realization of what he was trying to ask.

"Yes, there is," she cut him off without missing a beat to spare them both further embarrassment. "It's called a catheter. Since Killian can't really get up yet to go…" Now she was the one stammering for the right words, but he got the message.

"Ow..." Was her son's stunned response.

"Trust me, Kid – he's so full of pain killers right now, he doesn't even know it's there."

"Think they'll take it out now that he's awake?"

"Well…," she hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "I guess unless you want to help empty bedpans, they'll probably wait until he's strong enough to get up and out of bed on his own."

"What's a bed pan?" Henry wondered, not familiar with the term.

"Use your imagination…" Emma laughed, thoroughly thankful that her son's awkward question had lightened the mood considerably. It gave her a moment to take her mind off of the gravity of Killian's injuries while Henry sat deep in thought before suddenly reaching his own A HA moment.

"Oh! Eww… Gross! I've changed enough of Neal's diapers… I'm so not doing that!"

"Then don't you dare mention that catheter to your stepfather," she warned. "He freaked out enough over the breathing tube in his throat…"

"I'm not saying a word," Henry chuckled. "I don't want to be around for that…"

Emma shook her head, giving her son a weary smile as she heard a light rap from outside the doorway. She doubted that the nurse would knock when returning with Killian's medicine so what else could it be at this hour? She stood and took one wary step toward the door as it slowly swung open to reveal Deputy McCallen's timid face.

"Am I interrupting something?" the deputy asked shyly, looking quizzically at Emma's still slightly flushed face and the mischievous grin on Henry's lips.

"No, not at all," she replied with a snicker. "Come on in. We've just had a minor setback, but it's nothing we can't handle…" she explained as McCallen stepped through the doorway.

"You're in pretty good spirits for a setback," the deputy said, unaware of the conversation he'd narrowly missed walking in on. "I'm just reporting for my shift this evening and I was hoping that your husband might be up to looking at some photos of different boats so we can get a better description of the one his abductors used."

"The nurse gave him a pretty good pain killer a few hours ago and he's been out cold since. We were waiting for her to come back with something to help fight this fever when you arrived. I've got a feeling he won't be awake for a while."

"Well, I'll be here all night, Sheriff. I'll be right outside so just let me know when he's awake."

"You do realize that this protection duty still isn't necessary," she said with a hint of annoyance.

"Then you can call it professional courtesy, but either way, you'll have the company of the Cumberland County Sheriff's Department for a while." The deputy clearly wasn't backing down from his orders but Emma was far too fatigued to care. Tomorrow was another day though…

( _Note: I tried to get this chapter finished up quickly as it's looking like we are likely going to have Irma bearing down on us here in FL this weekend. The next two chapters are already plotted out on paper so I'll resume regular updates as soon as things are back to whatever passes for normal around here.)_


	9. Chapter 8

_Early Wednesday morning, Portland Medical Center_

According to the clock on the wall opposite him, it was now just after midnight as Killian awoke to a somewhat familiar voice engaged in conversation with his wife. Still irritated from the breathing tube, his throat had reached annoying levels of scratchiness. The mask he was instructed to wear wasn't helping either, only making his parched lips even drier. He promptly tugged it away, letting it hang about his neck by the elastic strap while gradually opening one eye and then the other, allowing his vision to adapt to the dim light of the room. As the surroundings came into focus once again, he spied Emma and the deputy he'd been introduced to earlier standing near the doorway talking in hushed voices. He couldn't make out the majority of what they were saying but he assumed that Emma's eagle eyes would have noticed him removing the mask but she didn't appear to have spotted his stirring.

"Emma?" he managed to croak out her name in little more than a whimper, surprising him with the degree of difficulty he had uttering that one single word. What the devil had that nurse injected into his veins earlier? Thankfully, his wife had heard his weak plea, immediately halting her conversation with the deputy to attend to him.

"Killian," she smiled sweetly as she moved closer but the expression barely concealed a new veil of concern hiding behind her green eyes. He could easily read it in the way she was looking at him. "I've been a little worried about you…" Why was she fretting about him yet again? And why did he feel noticeably weaker than he had earlier when he'd given over to sleep? "You've been running a pretty nasty fever," Emma explained as though she'd read his mind yet again.

"Ah…," he replied as his mental query was answered. Fever would most certainly explain why he was feeling worse. He'd experienced more than a few feverous days and nights during his many years at sea, recalling a particularly memorable bout with scarlet fever while in Neverland. Had a certain perky fairy not found him passed out in the jungle, he might not have survived that malady but four members of his crew hadn't been as lucky as he. But fever be damned right now. He craved a swig of rum but doubted he'd be permitted even the faintest sip of any libation. He just needed something to relieve the discomfort in his throat. "Just thirsty…"

"Oh…of course… Hang on," she told him, reaching for the handle of a beige plastic pitcher on the nightstand beside him. She poured just a small amount into a paper cup and thought about handing it to him, but then changed her mind and brought the cup to his lips. She tipped it slowly so he could take small sips, drinking nearly all of it before raising his hand to push her arm away. "The nurse brought you a container of ice chips too. They might feel better on your throat…"

"Not now," he responded with a shake of his head, his eyes falling closed again as he felt a pang of nausea building, worried his stomach wouldn't be able to handle anything more.

"Its okay. We can get more anytime if these ones melt." Her statement struck him as odd – not due to the subject, but rather her delivery. Was she disappointed that he'd refused?

"Later then," he promised, replying with the best cheeky grin he could muster and however ridiculous he may have looked, his effort did provide the desired effect of lightening her spirits.

"Now that you're awake, do you think you feel up to looking at some photos that Deputy McCallen put together? He'd like to try and narrow down the description of the boat you were on." Killian nodded and nearly responded with an 'Aye' but stopped himself, reminding himself that in this land, he wasn't known as a pirate captain. Here he was officially Deputy Sheriff Killian Jones, colleague to this young man who was working diligently to locate those who'd left a fellow deputy to perish.

"There are just a few here," McCallen jumped into the conversation. "I pulled up some that that most closely matched the brief description you gave us earlier." The deputy withdrew his phone from his pant pocket and tapped the screen a few times to open the slideshow file he'd created and uploaded before catching a few hours of sleep. "I'll swipe through them one at a time. Stop me if you need me to go back for another look or if you spot one that's a match."

Killian nodded his response once again while Emma took a seat on the bed next to him both to provide emotional support and to ensure that he didn't attempt to push himself. McCallen opened up the first image and turned the electronic screen toward Killian, a photograph of a standard fishing trawler displayed. He had previously indicated that the vessel wasn't a trawler but the deputy decided to use that craft to establish a baseline for comparison. The pirate immediately shook his head no which wasn't a surprise so McCallen flicked that photo away with his index finger. The next image that came up was one of a fancier cabin cruiser but again Killian signaled that it wasn't quite right, nor were the two following images. The fifth image though raised the pirate's eyebrow with instant recognition.

"That one," Killian stated, ignoring the irritation in the back of his throat to provide the deputy with as much as he could remember. "Of all the images, that one is the most similar - right down to those poles mounted at the stern." McCallen rotated his wrist to confirm which image Killian had identified, seeing that it was the sport fishing boat which had the elevated pilot cabin that had been described as well as a lower berthing area – presumably where the third man had been hiding when they'd departed Portland harbor. "I can't recall the entire moniker painted on the stern but it began with the letters D and O or maybe zero and ended with a number – 12 I believe…"

"Thank you," the deputy replied, tucking the phone away into his pocket before retrieving his trusty little notepad to add this latest piece of information to his evidence notes. "I'll update the harbormaster first thing in the morning and try to match that partial name to sport fishing boats that were in the harbor Sunday morning. It could be a long shot since it's a really popular type of boat, but we'll see where all this leads."

McCallen closed the cover on his notepad and was just about to put it away before returning to his post outside the door when Emma was reminded of the potential motive Killian told her about before the pain medication had knocked him out for approximately five hours.

"Don't put that away just yet," she advised the deputy who glanced over at her curiously. "Killian remembered something else earlier that I'd almost forgotten about until now. It was something that the man who stabbed him said to one of the others…"

"You remembered some more details about the attack?" McCallen directed his question to Killian who signaled an affirmative.

"Don't think it was ever a robbery," the pirate stated, noting a mix of confusion and confirmation on the young deputy's furrowed brow. "They wanted the shopkeeper…" He wanted to say more but since he was already pushing his feverish body to its limits, it was becoming quite an effort just summoning the energy to keep his drooping eyelids open. Sleep reclaimed him before he could complete the statement.

"What did your husband mean by that?" McCallen wondered as Emma moved off of the bed so she wouldn't disturb Killian, joining McCallen near the door.

"He had a bit of a nightmare earlier," she whispered. "His mind keeps replaying the events and while I obviously don't know all of what he experienced, I listened while he talked about it. He said that while he was still partially conscious, he overheard the man who stabbed him scolding the other two for not bringing Ms. Scott out there. He thinks they were trying to frighten her which makes it pretty likely that robbery was never the motive. Something else is going on behind this."

"I think we'll be needing to talk to Jean Scott again in the morning. Why don't you try to get some sleep like your son over there?" McCallen gestured toward Henry who was sleeping almost as soundly as his stepfather on a narrow cot that an orderly had brought in nearly an hour ago. Emma wasn't sure why it had been placed in the room, but they fully intended to make use of it. "We can't do much at this hour," the deputy continued as he scribbled a few last words onto the notepad before it was returned to the safety of his shirt pocket along with his ballpoint pen. "I'll be right outside the door if you need me, and don't worry – I've already spoken to both of the nurses on duty tonight so I can assure you that no one who isn't authorized to enter this room will bother you."

"So, you were the reason that they brought that cot in here? I don't know what it took to convince them to let Henry and me stay here tonight but I certainly appreciate it. Thank you."

"I'm not going to say that they were especially happy about it, but I explained very politely that you and your husband were both members of the law enforcement community and since this is still an open attempted murder case, having you and your family all here under our protection is far easier for all of us. I can be a hard nose too when I need to be."

"Well, it does take a huge burden off of me for tonight at least. One of our family members is going to drive down later this morning to pick up my son and take him back home. I don't want him to miss too much school and it's looking like Killian will be here for at least a few more days. I know he'd rather be here, but…" Her thought trailed off as she glanced over at her son.

"He seems like a pretty good kid," McCallen smiled. "This has got to be a lot to deal with for him…"

"He's definitely a good kid, but he's as stubborn as I am sometimes. Yes, it has been a little difficult for him to deal with but at times it feels like just another day at the office…" Emma sighed which inevitably led to a wide-mouthed yawn that she couldn't stop.

"I think I really need to visit this Storybrooke of yours," McCallen laughed, "but I'll be sure to make my travel plans after you've gotten some sleep, Sheriff. I'm gonna head back to my post now. See you in a few hours."

It wasn't quite sunrise when Emma opened her eyes but there was enough light poking through and around the drawn vertical blinds on the nearly floor to ceiling window that she could easily make out the still soundly sleeping form of her son on the cot to her right. She couldn't see the position of the hands on the wall clock so she glanced over at her phone resting on the nightstand to learn that it was currently 5:14am. Grimacing as she stretched and pulled herself out of the cloud of slumber, she couldn't help but snicker at the position she'd managed to get herself into. At some point during the night, she'd apparently rotated the chair enough to lean back and prop her feet up on the side of Killian's bed which must have seemed like a good idea to her at the time. Her back now crackled in protest to any attempt to straighten her spine.

As she lowered her sock covered feet to the floor, she tried not to disturb her husband, but she jostled the mattress just enough to jar him awake. She could see his semi-lucid mind struggling to remember where he was for a few seconds as his eyelids parted. Emma noticed that he was stirring and pushed through her own temporary aches to lean closer to him, running her fingers through his dark matted hair as she tried to persuade him to go back to sleep.

"It's really early," she whispered into his right ear as she toyed with a stray tendril that curled across his temple. "Regina won't be here for hours so just try to get some more sleep."

"It's alright, Love," he replied as the fogginess gradually cleared, reminding him that he was now beginning day four in a Portland hospital room. "Just takes a moment for my head to clear and I'll be fine…" As he became increasingly coherent, he realized that the cumbersome mask no longer hung from its elastic straps around his neck, replaced instead with a thin transparent plastic tube resting against his face which was delivering oxygen directly into his nostrils. But even without the annoyance of the mask, he found the aggravation of his irritated and parched throat persisting. He knew he could ask for his wife's assistance to reach the cup of water setting atop the rolling table that stretched above his legs but he'd grown weary of feeling like a helpless invalid. He needed to do this for himself.

She felt him lean forward, initially believing that he was shifting to a more comfortable position, but as his gaze locked onto the paper cup just inches in front of him, she started to open her mouth to offer her help. No words managed to come out though when his body shuddered abruptly into a fit of coughing spasms. His hand, still outstretched toward the cup of water, slammed against the table instead which upended it causing the contents to spill across the tabletop and drip onto the bed. Emma swiftly pushed the table away and moved over to sit next to him on the bed, holding him tightly as the coughing evolved into dry heaves. She didn't release her embrace until the spasms subsided while imploring him to try to take deep breaths. He tried to comply, but the uncomfortable burning in his chest was a constant warning that even the seemingly simple act of breathing was still an agonizing task.

"Bloody hell…," he wheezed, taking in rapid, shallow gasps of air until he could relax once again.

"I would have gotten that for you, you know…," she admonished his stubborn streak as she retrieved her own bottle of water from the nightstand and removed the cap. "Here – take some of mine until we get this cleaned up." His hand still shaking too much to hold onto the plastic bottle himself, she brought it to his lips for him, allowing him to take a few swallows to appease the fire in his throat.

"Thank you…," he sighed as his weary body shrank back against the mattress and pillows. "I was hoping to manage such a simple task by myself, but clearly I'm too clumsy for that yet…"

"Killian, you've barely been conscious for twelve hours. You've got to give yourself some time to heal and let us help you. No one is going to think anything less of you for asking and besides, what just happened had nothing to do with you being clumsy. Your body involuntarily started a fit of coughing that you couldn't control. You've got to stop being so hard on yourself… None of this is your fault."

"It's just that the sooner I can do these simple tasks for myself, the sooner I can get out of here…"

"And that time will come soon enough," she assured him. "There's no need to rush things. My dad is taking care of the station. Regina is coming to get Henry and I'll be right here with you until you're strong enough to make the trip home and then if you want me to, I can heal all of those lingering injuries for you."

"I guess right now I'll just have to settle for holding you?" He scooted his hips slightly to his left, then patted the narrow open space on the mattress as invitation for her to slide closer. "You've looked so uncomfortable in that chair…"

"And you think that squeezing both of us onto this tiny bed is better?" she giggled, glad to see his playful side emerging again.

"I'm willing to try…" And there was the smile she couldn't resist – the sly, sexy, sweet and genuine Killian Jones unencumbered by his own defensive walls and suddenly she found herself ridiculously blushing at the mere thought of sharing a bed with her own damned husband. It didn't matter that he still had a long way to go to fully recover, he had her grinning like a fool again and that was all that mattered.


	10. Chapter 9

_Wednesday morning, Portland Medical Center_

Emma slept maybe an hour longer in that cramped space next to her husband, waking with a jolt when she shifted too far to her left and accidentally brought her forearm down across his incision when she thought her backside was falling off the edge of the bed. She instantly felt his body tense at the painful unexpected contact which had her apologizing profusely as she clambered off of the mattress. Thankfully, the discomfort wasn't enough to completely wake him. He simply moaned and groaned briefly before drifting back to sleep but she decided she certainly wasn't going to attempt bed sharing again.

Trying not to wake the fidgeting Henry either, she padded silently across the tile floor and ducked into the bathroom, pushing the door closed as quietly as she could before flipping on the lights. Finding a small bar of unscented soap resting by the sink, she turned on the water and worked up a decent lather before scrubbing her face, longing for a shower and a change of clothing but those would have to wait. She rinsed off with a few splashes of lukewarm water and dried her hands and face using a couple of paper towels from the dispenser to her right. It was scarcely enough to make her feel human, but it would have to do for the meantime.

A few early rays of morning sunlight were just beginning to filter through the vertical blinds when she pushed the bathroom door open. Henry had rolled to his right side with his back to the window now but it was clear he wasn't yet ready to give up sleep without a fight. The increasing light in the room didn't appear to be bothering Killian but she didn't want to take any chances that she would disturb either of them so she decided to take a stroll out to the corridor to have a chat with Deputy McCallen once again before his shift ended.

"You're up awfully early, Sheriff," the deputy commented as Emma pulled the door nearly closed behind her – just enough that she could still hear if her name was called but hopefully muffling the sound of any voices in the hallway.

"It's tough to sleep in a chair," Emma replied honestly. "Killian offered to share, but that really wasn't much better. I accidentally moved a little too quickly and hurt him, so not doing that again."

"I guess your son got the lucky draw there," he said, almost as a tease while folding up the front section of that morning's newspaper, resting it across his lap.

"Yeah – can't tell you how tempted I am to wake him up and commandeer that cot for myself!" McCallen chuckled at her response then almost instantly flushed with embarrassment, worried that his laughter could be construed as inappropriate. Emma noticed his demeanor changing and decided it was time to address his apparent worry of crossing the line into unprofessional behavior. "You know, you don't have to be embarrassed about laughing. I meant it to be a joke and finding what I said funny doesn't mean you've crossed any lines. This has been a stressful situation for everyone and we're all going to be stuck working together for a while so it's natural that subjects are occasionally going to get personal or sometimes border on the less than professional. It's normal and it's perfectly okay. Hell, I'm honestly surprised that you didn't ask me why I haven't changed my clothes…"

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. I'm not trying to sound cold or be insensitive or anything, I'm just not very adept at these kind of investigations. I spend most of my time at my desk processing reports and answering telephones. I really don't get out into the field much, but Sheriff Lassiter thought this would be a good case for me to get some more experience."

"Aside from being maybe a little too reserved, you're handling the investigation just fine. You're not going to offend either of us so don't be afraid to say what's on your mind or ask whatever questions you have swirling around in there too."

"You're sure?"

"Of course. Just like the question you asked about Killian's jewelry, you can ask anything. I know you must have a few questions that you've written down in that notebook of yours that you haven't had the courage to ask me…"

"Honestly, I have a lot, but I have a suspicious feeling that most of them are going to be those very long stories…"

"Well, probably," she sighed, leaning her left shoulder into the floor to ceiling window behind her. "Our lives haven't exactly been what you would call conventional…"

"How so?" McCallen wondered, almost immediately regretting the query. "That's not too personal, is it?" he added shyly.

"Maybe a little, but I'm really tired so what the hell - I'm game," she grinned. "Take me for example – I spent most of my impressionable years in the foster system, had a few run-ins with the law but eventually got those impulses tamed and became a bail bondsperson. A few years later, I became Sheriff of Storybrooke. My younger self would have been absolutely mortified by the thought."

"I'm sure. Doesn't sound like the easiest path to where you are today. What about your husband? I remember how surprised and honestly horrified I was when taking my evidence photos while we were trying to identify him. Seeing all of those scars covering his body… I can't even imagine what he must have been though…"

"His life might have been even harder than mine in some ways. His mother wasn't in the picture when he was a child – I guess she died or abandoned her family when he was very young and then his father abandoned him as a young child, leaving Killian and his older brother in the hands of a man who brutally abused them for years. They eventually got away from that awful situation and joined the Royal Navy for a while, at least until the Navy command betrayed them on a mission that cost his brother, Liam his life."

"Is that when he lost his hand?"

"No – that came a little later in his life – when he lost his first love as well."

"Wow – that's awful…," McCallen replied with a sudden realization. "Is that the name on his wrist tattoo?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Her death sent him headfirst down a very destructive path but he says that meeting me was his wake-up call to pull him back from a lot of years spent in a very dark place. We found that together we could heal some of those old wounds – mending so many of each other's broken pieces and after we married, I officially made him my deputy, but we really had been partners long before that…"

"You two do make an interesting pair. Now I understand a little better why you say that everything is a long story."

"Oh, I've only hit some of the highlights here!" Emma reminded the deputy with an exasperated giggle. "There are things about Killian that I still don't really know and there are things he doesn't yet know about me but we're slowly learning… Like the story of how Killian actually lost his hand – he doesn't like to talk about the details so I honestly don't even know the whole sorted tale. All I know for sure is that it involved a very jealous crocodile…"

"A crocodile?" McCallen exclaimed, looking up at her incredulously. "His hand was bitten off by a crocodile?"

"No – not an actual crocodile. That was the nickname he gave his lover's ex-husband – and that's definitely another of those long stories…"

Okay – I think I'll leave it at that. Not sure I want to know any more. Sounds too much like some bizarre medieval jilted lover's revenge plot…"

"Oh, you have no idea…," she laughed heartily, not really because of the subject but rather at how close to reality McCallen's medieval tryst implication actually came. She couldn't exactly explain that the truth of the situation from hundreds of years ago in another far-off realm was in fact, very medieval.

"Pretty sure I already know too much," McCallen started to say when he was cut off by the door behind them pushing open.

"Hey, Mom," Henry called, appearing in the doorway to Emma's right. "I think you need to come back in here. Killian seems to be having another nightmare…" She didn't hesitate as she darted past her son figuring things must be pretty bad if it had awakened him. The deputy rose to his feet, placing the newspaper on the chair as he stood hovering in the doorway behind the teen fully prepared to hail the nurse at the desk if necessary.

She'd only left his side minutes ago, but the tremors he'd experienced with the last nightmare had returned as had the sheen of sweat upon his brow. His heartrate and blood pressure were gradually increasing as well although not yet to levels that were attracting the nurse's attention.

"Killian?" she called out his name hoping to pull him back from the dreamscape. She lifted his hand into hers, letting her thumb graze across his knuckles, avoiding the tape securing the plastic tubing of the IV. "Killian, it's just a dream… I'm right here… No one's going to hurt you…" She raised her left hand to caress his cheek but he shrugged away from her touch the moment her fingertips brushed his skin. "It's alright…" she kept repeating calming words and clung tightly to his hand even as he attempted to pull it from her grasp. "Listen to my voice… It's only a dream…" She stubbornly refused to let go until the trembling finally subsided and his pulse gradually slowed. He drew in a few deeper breaths as his eyes open, wide with surprise and just a hint of fear. "Hey," she smiled as his gaze met hers. "You were just dreaming…"

"Didn't feel like a dream…," he replied breathlessly. "Felt as though I were drowning all over again…"

"Do you want me to call the nurse for you? You were shaking quite a bit there. Are you in any pain right now?"

"I'll be fine in a moment, Swan," he grimaced, clearly lying but obviously frustrated at his own helplessness. He didn't want his wife to be constantly worried about him. He just wanted to go home and get back to normal – whatever that might be for them. "I'm just ready to be out of this bed – to get my sea legs back, so to speak."

"And you will," she reminded him. "Like I told you earlier, there's no need to rush things. Storybrooke is in my father's capable hands, Regina will be here in a few hours and I'm not going anywhere." She'd said it all before but she didn't want him forgetting a single word. "You have to allow yourself time to heal…"

He knew she was right so there was no point to arguing but he was determined that he wouldn't be tended to for much longer. As soon as they removed some of these intrusive, infernal tubes and wires, he'd show that he was fully capable of taking care of himself.

"I know. I'm just a smidge impatient sometimes," he replied with a smirk.

"Don't I know it?" she retorted with a shake of her head. "A smidge?"

"Honestly, Love, right now I'm actually just worn out and maybe a little hungry…"

"Hungry? Well, that's new. I guess you haven't really eaten for three days so maybe it's a good thing that you're getting hungry. Let me see if I can find out what you're allowed to have."

Satisfied that the crisis had been averted and was no longer in need of his attention, McCallen relaxed his stance and retrieved the newspaper from his seat.

"Glad everything seems to have calmed down. I'll head back to my post until the next deputy arrives around eight. I've already finished up with this – well, except for the crossword puzzle. I'm hanging on to that section, but you're welcome to the rest if you'd like…" He held out the first three sections of the folded newspaper which Henry accepted.

"I'll take it. I'll give me something to look at until my other mom gets here…" the teen stated, much to McCallen's confusion once again.

"Other mom?" the deputy wondered but he quickly brushed it off. "Nevermind… I'm sure that'll be another one of your family's long stories…" Henry grinned but didn't respond as McCallen took his seat by the door shaking his head in disbelief while Henry re-entered his stepfather's room.

"I'll be right back," Emma stated, brushing past her son as she went to ask the nurse if Killian would be allowed any type of food, hoping they'd offer something other than gelatin which she knew he probably wouldn't eat. She really didn't want to explain why either.

Henry started unfolding the paper while still standing at the foot of the bed, separating the sections as he searched for the comics - which ended up being in the local and state section. He tossed the rest of the paper over onto the counter by the sink and opened up the portion he'd kept, briefly scanning the pages while he looked for the one he wanted then flipping them around so that the page he was reading would be on top. He took a single step away from the bed when something on the opposite page happened to catch Killian's eye.

"May I see that, Lad?" the pirate implored, his fingers inexplicably trembling yet again as he pointed at the periodical in his stepson's hand.

"You want to see the comics?" the somewhat bewildered teen asked, not quite sure what had captured Killian's attention enough to cause his hand to start shaking again. "You usually don't want to read them…"

"Not those ridiculous crude drawings," Killian replied. "The other page… There's a photograph I saw… May I see it closer?" Henry shrugged as he glanced at the opposing page to see an article about a new office building under construction above a half-page advertisement for a car dealership, neither of which would seemingly be of interest to his stepfather. He handed the paper to Killian as he watched the pirate's eyes narrow to focus on a grainy photograph depicting an older man standing in front of a construction site. It wasn't the clearest image on the newsprint, but it was more than enough for Killian to recognize that he'd seen the man pictured before.

"Bloody hell… That's the third man…" the pirate growled, loud enough to capture McCallen's attention, drawing the deputy into the room.

"Did I just hear you say something about the third man?" the deputy demanded, interest fully piqued at this potential new lead.

"The man in this photograph – he's the third man – the one who stabbed me," Killian repeated. The deputy yanked the paper from the pirate's hand in a manner that would have bordered on rude, but Killian didn't take offense as McCallen looked at the image and the caption below it.

"Are you sure about this?" McCallen asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "That man is Donovan Donleavy, head of Leviant Construction. You're telling me that he's the man who attempted to kill you?"

"I may not have been fully coherent at the moment, but I can assure you that I got a sufficient enough look at the face of my attacker to know that's him."

"Crap…," the deputy sighed, dropping the newspaper onto the pale blue blanket covering Killian's legs.

"Did I just hear someone saying 'crap'?" Emma wondered as she sauntered back in, unaware of the revelation that had just occurred, but instantly noticing the change in the atmosphere of the room. "Okay – what did I just miss?"

"Your husband just identified his assailant," McCallen stated without raising his gaze from the floor to look at her. "And if he's right, things just might have gotten a whole lot more complicated…"

"Okay…," Now she was even more curious as to what had transpired in the two or three minutes that she'd stepped away. "Unless I'm missing something, this should be a good thing, right? If Killian was able to identify the man who stabbed him, what so complicated?"

"I would typically say yes, this is a good thing," the deputy began, retrieving the newspaper to let Emma see the photograph for herself. "Except that the man who your husband identified is a fairly prominent Portland business man – head of a major construction company here. I can't just walk out of here and arrest him on the word of a man who just woke up from a two day coma. If Mr. Donleavy really is the person who stabbed you, Mr. Jones, we're going to have to work very carefully to build a rock solid case."

"I'm quite certain of the face I saw," Killian insisted, growing agitated that his word wasn't good enough.

"And I'm not doubting you," McCallen assured him, "but we can't go out there and accuse a man like him without plenty of evidence. First thing I intend to do is see if Donovan Donleavy has a registered sport fishing boat that hopefully was spotted somewhere near the ferry terminal Sunday morning. It'll be even better if he has a boat with a name that includes those letters and numbers you gave me earlier this morning."

"And now we definitely need to go back and talk to Jean Scott," Emma stated. "She mentioned receiving offers to sell her property. What if one of her potential suitors was getting a little pushy?"

"I see where you're going with that…," McCallen grinned. "We should find out if one of those potential buyers was Donleavy."

"Exactly!" she smiled. The deputy might not be so green after all.

"Okay, I guess I'd better go wake up Sheriff Lassiter and see what he wants us to do now," McCallen said as he checked the time on his watch with a frown and furrowed brow. "I also had better check in with Sgt. Haviland as well. He'd been letting our department run with the investigation when it seemed like just a run of the mill robbery case, but this has gotten a lot bigger than that."

"Think you could get him to meet you over here later this morning?" Emma wondered. "I'd really like to be involved in the discussions too."

"I'll definitely ask. He may want Portland P.D. to take over the case now, but we'll bring both him and Sheriff Lassiter up to speed and let them argue jurisdiction."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd keep me in the loop," Emma said, unsure if she'd be viewed by the others as a colleague or as a hindrance.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Sheriff," McCallen promised her. "You've been an invaluable help with getting our investigation this far. As soon as Sam gets here to take over sentry duty, I'll see what I can arrange."

"Don't you need some sleep?" she wondered.

"I caught a few hours yesterday afternoon and I'll grab a nap later. Right now, there's too much going on to worry about sleep…" The deputy was already out of the door and into the corridor before Emma could respond but Killian was now mildly amused.

"I concur with the deputy," he stated.

"You concur with what?" she responded with a curious sideways glance.

"There's too much going on to bother with sleep. I have a few tasks I would like to attempt this morning before Regina arrives to take the lad back home."

"Such as?"

"Perhaps a shower?" he asked, a hint of eagerness evident in his azure eyes. He made a visual point of raising his hand to his head, lacing his fingers through areas where he knew his dark hair was plastered to his scalp from salt water, sweat and the simple fact that his head had been pressed into a pillow for three days. He'd yet to see his own visage in a mirror, but he knew he was likely a fright with matted disheveled hair, a painful black eye and an untrimmed mess of whiskers adorning his battered face. "I believe I should make myself look at least decently presentable before the Queen arrives."

"Seriously?" she deadpanned before both she and Henry erupted in laughter, much to her husband's chagrin. "Killian – Regina knows what you've been through. You don't have to be concerned about vanity…"

"Perhaps," he replied in a huff. "But it would also make me feel a lot better as well. I most certainly do not feel like my devilishly handsome self at the moment…"

"Okay," She could see his point now. "The nurse will be in soon with some broth or something for you to try. We'll ask her then. Not sure what they'll say or how they'll even work it with all of your bandages, but we can ask." Turning toward her son, she had a task for him. "Henry, would you be willing to run out to the Bug and get my black duffel bag out of the trunk?"

"Sure. Where are your keys?" Henry asked, picking up his jacket from the floor next to the chair."

"In my coat pocket," she replied.

"Got it! Be right back!" The teen fished the key ring from her coat hanging on the closet doorknob and darted toward the door.

"Don't forget to tell Deputy McCallen where you're going – better yet – see if he'll go with you so he doesn't freak out when you return carrying a duffel bag." She didn't even know if her son had heard the last part of her statement, but hopefully enough of the message had gotten through so that she could now return her full attention to her husband. "Now – if you do get permission to shower, you might as well get some of your own clothing as well. I didn't really know what to bring so I just sorta grabbed a few things I thought might be comfortable – some pajama pants and a couple of shirts. Wasn't sure if the button up or the T-shirt ones were going to better so I brought both…"

"Well, then hopefully the nurse will be here very soon, while the lad isn't present. I'm quite certain that they'll need to adjust certain 'attachments' in order for me to make my way into that bath…" He pointed to the open bathroom door, then allowed his gaze to drift downward and Emma immediately understood.

"Well, then, maybe you should press that call button to get her attention." Emma couldn't help herself as she started giggling at his expense once more. "I'll let you be the one to argue that point…"

 _Note: I meant to add this to the last chapter update but forgot to save it before I uploaded. My family weathered the wrath of Irma better than many here in FL. We never lost power and our internet even stayed on most of the time so I had lots of free time to get two chapters finalized. We know we were fortunate but it was nice to be able to get lost in a fairytale world for even a few hours of distraction._


	11. Chapter 10

_Note: I've been working hard to get this chapter completed and posted before the Season 7 premiere and just squeaked it in! This chapter is definitely a little fluffier than the previous ones but not without it's surprises..._

 _Wednesday Morning, Portland Medical Center_

When Killian's regular day nurse, Jackie, came on shift at 7AM, she was pleased to find that his appetite was returning although she was still mildly concerned about his lingering low-grade fever. She'd read the evening nurse's notes that he'd been given permission to try a cup of broth and if he managed to keep that down, they'd try something a little more solid in a few hours. He'd pleaded his case for a shower but the request had to be put on hold until Jackie could speak to Dr. Wallace - needing to be certain that it was safe to disconnect him from all of the machines and monitors - but she promised to bring him the broth while he awaited the doctor's response. He'd hoped to be free of the tubes and wires before Henry returned from the parking garage, but that wouldn't be happening.

His wait did end up being shorter than the nurse had expected though and only minutes after she'd brought him the cup of steaming chicken broth, she returned with a basket of supplies and a stack of towels. In the time she was gone, he'd managed to drink about a third of the liquid – determining quickly that it was much easier to sip it directly from the rim of the bowl rather than to attempt using the spoon. He really wanted to drink it all, but his stomach wasn't on the same page as his head so the rest would have to wait. The nurse didn't appear at all surprised that he hadn't finished it, not even commenting as she set the bowl off to the side so it wouldn't get spilled while she got him ready to bathe.

Figuring the fifteen year-old really didn't want to witness whatever weirdness and hilarity would likely result from his mother's attempt to help his stepfather shower for the first time in days, Emma had sent Henry to the cafeteria for breakfast with instructions not to return for at least half an hour. He eagerly snagged a ten dollar bill from her wallet, promising to bring her back coffee and a cinnamon roll, then hurried out the door. Once the teen was on his way, Jackie drew the privacy curtain and began talking them through everything she was doing as she untethered her patient from the equipment.

"It'll take me just a few minutes to disconnect all of these leads and then I'll remove the old dressings from each of the incisions. The IV has to stay in place, but it's portable. You'll just need to be very careful not to dislodge it," she stated as she went to work peeling away adhesives that held various wires in place – most of which Emma didn't even have the foggiest idea what they'd been for. A few alarms and buzzers sounded as the connections were severed, but the nurse was unfazed, switching off each machine that was no longer in use.

"Now," she continued, "I need you to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, Mr. Jones. You may experience a little discomfort…" Killian knew precisely what she meant, instinctively holding his breath as the nurse pulled the catheter free. "Okay – you're all set there…"

"That's it?" he exhaled heavily as he asked for confirmation that she was done, not having felt much of anything despite the sensitive nature of the area in question.

"You're free of the catheter," Jackie laughed. "Wasn't so bad now, was it?" Even Emma had to chuckle at the relief evident on Killian's face, quite thankful that this step had actually been quick and painless or he'd likely still be complaining. "Okay – now let's get those bandages off…" Lowering the pale green gown to his waist to access the gauze patch on his chest, she swiftly pulled the tape loose from the edges and removed the entire covering, taking a visual inspection of his sutures to ensure that nothing looked out of the ordinary. "Sutures look great – no seepage or discoloration. Why don't you lean forward a bit so I can get to the dressing on your back now?" He shifted his center of gravity forward so Jackie could reach the entry wound and as he lowered his head, he was able to get his own first look at the surgical incision that stretched across the lower portion of his chest and a portion of his upper abdomen. Considering the narrow blade that had pierced his body, he was surprised at the length of the opening the surgeons had cut into him to reach and repair the internal damage but what had him scrunching his nose in disgust wasn't the wound itself but rather the fact that the medical team had shaved a broad patch of his dark chest hair in order to make that incision. His eyes darted from his shaven chest to his wife's face, glaring at her as she mouthed the words: _It will grow back_.

"It's not going to be a problem for him to get the stitches wet?" Emma wondered, ignoring his pining over missing chest hairs.

"Not at all. As long as you don't try to scrub over them, it should be perfectly fine. Best advice is just be gentle for the first day or two," Jackie replied as she disposed of the used gauze in the hazardous waste receptacle before going over the rest of her instructions. "Alright, Mr. Jones – now comes my question for you – do you want to attempt to walk to the bathroom or would you prefer if I brought in a transport chair?" His gaze immediately met his wife's, seeking her approval as she'd likely be the one tasked with catching him should he fall on his face.

"I can help get you there if you want to try walking…," Emma answered, already knowing what his intent would be.

"I'd like to attempt using my own two feet then," he insisted.

"Okay then, I'm going to have you get out on this side so you're less likely to get the IV tubing tangled," Jackie responded as she moved around to his right side, reaching over his head to remove the two transparent bags of fluid that hung above him, placing them onto a hook atop a tall metal pole with wheels attached to the bottom. This was apparently what she meant by the IV being portable. "Swing your legs toward me now," she instructed as she tugged away the bedcovers. Eager to be out of the bed for sure this time, he shifted around to let his bare feet drop to the cool tile floor. He grasped the bedside rail tightly, intending to use it for support while Emma positioned herself at his left, her fingers wrapping around his bicep ready to help him take that first tentative step.

"Easy now…," Jackie said as she stood in front of him. "Let's see if you can stand up and hold your balance…"

He quickly realized that standing and remaining that way was a bit more difficult than he'd thought, but damn, it felt good to be standing on his own accord – well, mostly on his own accord. He felt a bit like a fool but after spending three full days in that bed, but he was thoroughly enjoying this freedom – finding himself somewhat amused that this petite little ginger-haired woman was so confidently standing before him as though she'd be fully capable of breaking his fall. He wasn't even certain if his lovely wife – strong as she was – could accomplish that task if he were to lose his balance right now. It also wasn't lost on him that the flimsy gown the hospital provided was covering very little of his person right now, leaving his derriere in full view of anyone who should walk into the room.

"Think you can handle him from here, Mrs. Jones?" Jackie asked.

"I think so. It's not the first time I've had to shoulder his weight," Emma responded with a side-eyed glance toward her husband.

"Just remember to take it slow," the amber-headed nurse reminded them. "Once you get in there, you'll find that there's a flip down shower seat and a handheld showerhead. Make use of them – trust me. Your lungs aren't fully recovered from nearly drowning and you've been inactive for several days so this is going to feel like a lot of exertion. I'll bring a chair when I come back because you'll probably want to use it. Last note – keep the water temperature on the lukewarm side if you can stand it. Don't want the water to be too warm or too cold when fighting off a fever. Now, any questions for me or is there anything you need?"

"I think we're good. I've got soap and shampoo with me and you're already brought us the towels. I brought some of his clothes with me – would it be okay for him to put those on instead of the gowns?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with – just nothing with any metal on it. Dr. Wallace wants to get some new images of his lungs so it'll be off to Radiology when I return so, try not to get too carried away."

* * *

What he'd thought would be a simple process – just a simple shower – quickly proved to be anything but. He'd initially foolishly thought that he'd be able to stand but any hope of that happening vanished the moment Emma turned on the water and a sudden panic washed over him – the all-too-recent memories of waves pummeling him flooding back the moment the spray struck his head. Emma had to turn off the faucet and coax him to sit down, eventually climbing into the shower stall with him – clothes and all. With the handheld shower head, she gradually helped him wash off, working her way from his feet back up to his head while he pushed away that momentary fear. By the time she reached his hair, it took three rounds of shampooing and rinsing to remove all of the grime and restore the normal luster and texture of his dark locks.

He apologized to her repeatedly as she helped him to dry off and get dressed first while she stood there dripping wet. She took it in stride, shaking her head and snickering at how ridiculous they looked. As if on cue, they heard a rap on the door and then the voice of nurse Jackie asking if they needed any help – which of course caused both of them to break out in rolling laughter.

"I think we could definitely use a hand," Emma managed to say in between giggles. "Did you bring that chair you mentioned?"

"Have it right here," Jackie replied as the bathroom door opened toward her and the very first thing the nurse saw was a very drenched Emma standing inside the doorway, tee shirt and jeans plastered to her body – well, mostly the front of her body.

"I'd really appreciate it if you could help us get him into that chair so I can dry off and change," Emma said with a chuckle. "This ended up being a lot more complicated than we'd thought and we both ended up getting a shower…"

"Of course. Hang on…," the nurse smiled as Emma stepped out of the way and Jackie brought the wheelchair into the close confines of the bathroom finding her patient much drier than his wife and partially clothed in a pair of navy blue pajama pants. All of his effort to take his simple shower had left him exhausted, his lungs burning as much as if he'd just run the entire length of Main Street and he was struggling to catch his breath. "Let's get you standing for a moment and I'll bring the chair to you…" It took her no time at all to get him situated and once seated, she wheeled him back into the main room while Emma made her way over to the chair by the bed where she'd left her duffel bag, leaving a trail of water droplets in her wake. She pulled out some clean clothes and ducked back into the bathroom to change while Jackie turned her attention to her patient. "How about we get those sutures covered back up while your wife is changing?" the nurse suggested, a notion that Killian was smart enough to realize wasn't actually a choice.

* * *

By the time Emma stepped out of the bathroom now clad in black twill pants and an oversized burgundy long sleeved tee shirt, Jackie had replaced the bandages on both of Killian's incisions and was helping him don the heathered dove grey tee shirt that he'd chosen earlier. Were he in Storybrooke, he likely would have selected the long-sleeved button up shirt instead as it fully covered his stumped arm but since everyone here, including Deputy McCallen, had already viewed his deformity and weren't horrified by it, he decided on simplicity.

Emma glanced over at the clock on the wall as she towel-dried her damp hair. It was just after 8:00AM so Regina would be on her way to pick up Henry soon, having promised to be there by 10AM. She hadn't yet heard anything from McCallen although that wasn't entirely surprising considering the number of people he needed to get in contact with this morning regarding the latest revelation in the case. She was certain that he'd let her know as soon as he could, but now that they had a suspect to pursue, Emma found herself growing impatient. She knew who had nearly killed her husband and now all she could think about was how they could catch him.

Killian had decided to stay seated in the wheelchair, not wanting to make the extra effort required to get back into bed before the nurse took him to this Radiology place. He wasn't really certain what that meant and he wasn't about to ask until the nurse stepped out of the room to see if they were ready for him. Once they were alone again, Emma tossed the damp towel onto the foot of the bed and strolled up behind her husband, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck and nuzzling her face into his nearly dry hair before he tilted his head back to gaze up at her.

"I missed this," she smiled as she kissed the center of his forehead.

"Aye, Love," he replied. "I promise, once I am healed, we shall make up for lost time…"

"Let's just focus on that healing part first, okay?" she laughed. "Hopefully, the images will come back clear enough that they'll let you go home."

"About that – what are these Radiology images everyone keeps talking about?"

"Radiology is the name of the science and the department. Basically, they use special machines that are capable of taking pictures of your insides so they can see things like broken bones and in your case, the amount of fluid still affecting your lungs. Don't you remember the X-rays they took of your broken ribs when you were hit by Greg's car during your stand-off with Gold?"

"Swan, there's much I remember about that evening, but alas, I don't recall anyone taking strange X-rated photographs of my innards…"

"X-rays, not X-rated. Very different things and I suppose you probably wouldn't remember. Pretty sure they had you pumped full of pain killers – assuming you were even conscious…"

"So, just how do they manage to take these images?" he wondered, uncertain as to whether he should be expecting invasive poking and prodding or should prepare himself for additional pain.

"It depends. Usually, you lie on a table and they position a special camera above you. I don't exactly know how it works, but it just takes a few minutes and its pretty much painless." She heard his audible sigh of relief at the _painless_ part of her explanation. "If they end up doing an MRI, that's slightly different. It takes a lot longer because they take hundreds of pictures from different angles to get a more detailed image. Maybe Jackie can explain it to you on the way?"

"I'll be certain to ask…," he replied snidely as he heard the door creak open behind them.

"Everybody decent?" Henry called out, unwilling to even take a peek around the curtain until he was sure it was okay to do so.

"Yes – it's okay to come in," Emma responded with a snicker. "I guess we can put this curtain back now too." She gave the fabric a tug and walked it back to its place by the head of the bed but in retracting the curtain, her son threw her a quizzical glance as he noticed her long blonde hair hanging in damp, scraggly strands against her shoulders.

"Guess you decided to shower too?" the teen asked as he extended his hand toward her with an offering of a steaming hot cup of black coffee that Emma immediately snatched up.

"It wasn't exactly planned…," she replied with a mock scowl before breaking into a wide smile, "…but we managed anyway."

"I don't even want to know…," Henry said with an _I've already heard too much_ expression on his face. "Forget I asked."

"We'll spare you all the gory details," she laughed. "But thank you for the coffee."

"No problem," Henry said. "I was going to bring you a cinnamon roll but they were all out and I wasn't sure what else to bring. I knew I wouldn't go wrong with coffee though."

"Absolutely! I'll find something later after I've heard back from Deputy McCallen."

"I wish you'd let me stay and help you out," the teen pleaded.

"I know, but honestly, I want you safely back in Storybrooke," Emma replied firmly. "Now that we have a suspect, the investigation could get a lot more intense and I do not want you to get caught in the middle. As soon as Killian is released from here, he'll be heading back to Storybrooke too."

"But how are you going to get the Jolly Roger back home?" Henry wondered. "She still needs the sail repaired and I don't think Killian will be able to climb the rigging himself right now…"

"The lad has a point…," Killian interrupted. "He does know how to replace the line. I made sure to teach him properly…"

"Let's just deal with catching the man who tried to kill you first. We'll worry about how to get the Jolly Roger back home later. I'm sure we can find some help with that once the rest of this crisis is over."

"Okay, Mom," Henry sighed, still dejected but understanding her point as well.

"Why don't you gather up your stuff?" Emma suggested. "Regina should be here soon and hopefully she won't be in a huge hurry to head back. I've got a favor to ask of her…" Emma started to say something else but was interrupted by a chime from her cell phone on the nightstand. "Hang on a sec…" She scooped up her phone and tapped on the screen to see her notifications, spotting an important message. "That's from McCallen," she read off. "He said Sgt. Haviland from Portland PD is going to meet us here around 9:30AM." That was only a little over an hour from now and roughly the same time that Regina was due to arrive. "You might have to stall your other mom, Kid."

"I can probably manage that," the teen assured her. "As long as Killian is up for a visitor?"

* * *

Just before 9AM, the nurse returned to let them know that the Radiology team was ready for Killian and before whisking him away, she advised Emma that they'd be gone for about an hour. Her pirate was still rather bewildered as to what he was about to experience and just a bit displeased that he wouldn't be present when his wife and the young deputy met with Sgt. Haviland so that he could learn more about this Donleavy person. Emma repeatedly assured him that she would fill him in on all details later but he still wasn't satisfied. He wanted to be privy to the investigation – after all, he was the one most afflicted.

Not long after the nurse departed with her griping husband, she received yet another text from McCallen with a request to meet him downstairs in the hospital lobby. She wasn't really sure why the deputy wouldn't just come up to the room so her inclination was to believe that he must have learned something that couldn't be shared in front of Killian - or possibly Henry – so she replied with an agreement to meet him in five minutes. Hopefully it meant he'd found something that would corroborate Killian's account, not further upset him.

She couldn't immediately locate McCallen in the busy lobby but she finally managed to spot him seated on a bench by the floor to ceiling windows to the right of the hospital entrance. He'd changed into jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt that looked as though it could have been proffered from her father's closet but she noted that his demeanor certainly didn't appear as casual as his attire. She zig-zagged her way toward him, dodging people as she drew her still soggy blonde locks back into a ponytail and wrapped a hair tie around them hoping McCallen wouldn't decide to question why she looked as though someone had tried to drown her.

"Sheriff," he greeted her as she rounded the reception desk. "Glad you got my message and were able to come down here a little early."

"No problem. Killian's down in Radiology having X-rays done and my son is getting his things together before going home so I had a few minutes free. Are we still meeting with Sgt. Haviland this morning?"

"Yes, he'll be here in a couple of minutes but I really wanted to go over a few things with you before our colleague gets here."

"Okay… is there something going on that you didn't want my husband to hear?" she wondered.

"No, no – nothing like that. I just have a feeling that Portland PD might insist on taking over this case and since Sheriff Lassiter said to let Haviland take the lead if they want it, I can't promise that they'll include you any longer. I explained how valuable you've been to my investigation, but it'll be up to him. He also might not want my help anymore so I felt I should take a moment to thank you. This case turned out to be a lot more complex than I'd expected and I was really in over my head. I appreciate everything you've done to help me boost my confidence…"

"Aaron…," she started to say that it wasn't necessary, finding herself slightly unnerved by his rambling and even a little bit worried.

"Please, let me finish… I might not get enough nerve to say this again…," McCallen looked more nervous in this moment than he had been since Emma had met the young deputy yesterday. She was concerned that she might have made him a little self-conscious by suddenly using his first name, but he drew in a deep breath and continued. "There was a reason that Sheriff Lassiter originally assigned this case to me – I was originally just tasked with finding out the identity of the John Doe amputee and how he'd ended up on the beach, but that was only because he thought I'd be a kindred spirit or something… I don't know…"

Emma had no idea where McCallen was going with his rambling, but clearly, whatever he was trying to say was important to him so she withheld judgement and allowed him to continue his tale.

"Anyway, the Sheriff thought I'd have more empathy toward your husband because I could relate to his disability…"

"Why would that matter?" Emma asked him, still not certain of the meaning behind his story so far.

"Because even though I spend most of my time sitting behind a desk, Sheriff Lassiter thought I should get a little experience in the field. He thought this would be an easy case for me – identify John Doe, find his family and hopefully learn who wounded him…"

"Okay, McCallen," she sighed. "You've completely lost me here." Her confusion had finally overwhelmed her and she had to know… "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry… I know I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm so bad at this…"

"Bad at what?"

"Talking about myself," he sighed.

"Yourself? I'm definitely missing something here…"

"Yes, I'm afraid… There's something I've been trying to hide from you," he lamented. "I didn't want you to think of me as any less of an investigator if you learned they'd assigned a disabled deputy to your husband's case…"

"Disabled?"

McCallen slowly bent over and tugged at the denim of his right pant leg, raising it to reveal a silicone cuff fitted around his ankle and most of his calf. She could see that the bottom of that cuff was fitted to a metal joint which extended into the black leather high-topped combat-style boot he wore.

"I've gotten pretty good at disguising it so I look almost normal walking but just don't ask me to run," he gave her a shy, slightly embarrassed laugh after revealing his secret prosthetic foot and managing to make a joke about it.

"I honestly had no idea…," she replied, surprised by his revelation, but certainly not that he'd still be capable of doing his job. "Actually, I take that back… Yesterday when we drove over to meet with Jean Scott, I thought there was something different but I was honestly so distracted by everything that was going on with Killian that I figured it was just me that was off. Now that I think about it, it's because you were driving with your left foot!"

"Sheriff had that old Taurus modified especially for me – gas pedal on the left instead of the right. He's made sure to find ways to keep me on the job since I lost my foot. Maybe part of it is guilt because it happened while I was on the job, but I'm still grateful he kept me on as a deputy. He was just so certain that this would be a simple case to get me out of the office for a while but look how that turned out…"

"You lost your foot on the job? What happened – if you don't mind me asking?"

"No crocodiles involved here," he chuckled nervously, again wary of making light of his own situation. "I was out on a call one night and it was the beginning of winter and snowing like crazy. I don't remember much but I had my lights and siren on heading through an intersection when I was struck head on by a car driving on the wrong side of the road. The impact pushed the engine block and dashboard forward and while the airbag protected my upper body, my right foot got pinned under there somehow. By the time rescuers were able to cut me out of what was left of the car, I'd lost all feeling and circulation in that foot. Doctors at this same hospital tried to get blood flow back, but ended up having to amputate. It's been about two and a half years now, so in some ways, I'm still adapting, but I was determined that it wasn't going to beat me. I know it plays a huge part in my insecurities, but I try not to let it define me…"

"You know what's funny – for a long time, Killian did define himself by his disability. He used it to his advantage by showing people that he wasn't going to let it stop him and even turned his prosthetic into a weapon of sorts." She had to stop herself there before she accidentally divulged that her husband's preferred prosthetic actually was a weapon. "Now he's trying to just be Killian Jones – husband and deputy Sheriff. His prosthetic hand just an extension of him – nothing more, nothing less." It truly was the way she felt about his hook when he was wearing it and how she looked at his stump when he didn't have it on. It was always still just Killian.

"So, you don't feel like I'm not capable of continuing the investigation? That's part of what Sheriff Lassiter was worried about. He was concerned that I wouldn't be able to handle the case if things got too physical."

"Why would I be worried that you were incapable of seeing this case through to the end? I wouldn't think my husband would be incapable of doing his job with one hand, so why would I think that about your prosthetic foot? If we get into a chase situation, you let me do the running."

"You don't want me off the case then?"

"Of course not. Unless we absolutely have to turn everything over to Sgt. Haviland, I'd prefer we keep working together. You deserve to see this out too."

"Then I won't offer to give up the case – not without a fight. Thank you for trusting me with this, Sheriff."

"You don't need to thank me. Just help me put Donleavy and his cohorts behind bars and that'll be thanks enough."

"Alright then. Let's go see if Haviland is here. He's going to meet us in the parking garage across the street."

"Lead the way." She was more than ready to get this case moving forward.


	12. Chapter 11

_Wednesday morning_ _ **,**_ _Municipal Parking Garage_

Emma wasn't at all surprised to be meeting with Sgt. Havilland in a parking garage. It wasn't the first time she'd met a contact in one since typically city garages were secured, offered surveillance of those coming and going yet still provided enough privacy to discuss the details of a case without a ton of potential eavesdroppers. As she and McCallen entered this garage's almost derelict elevator, she definitely noticed the change in the deputy's anxiety level. He'd unloaded a huge personal burden earlier which she'd fully accepted without pity or judgement and maybe that acceptance was now helping boost his fledgling confidence. He was all business when they stepped out of the elevator on the rooftop level where Emma almost immediately spied the unmarked dark blue Ford parked directly across the ramp from where they stood. The tall, lanky man waiting beside the vehicle didn't particularly strike her as a cop, his appearance more akin to a prep school administrator as he stood there in a slightly oversized tweed sport coat with matching pants and a bright white starched Oxford shirt. The caramel hue of his ill-fitting suit nearly matched the color of his deeply tanned skin.

"How much do you know about this guy?" Emma asked McCallen as they crossed the uppermost level of the garage toward their Police Department colleague.

"We've talked a few times, but I've never met with him in person. I do know he's a good guy though and he's a good cop. I'm quite confident he'll be able to help us with this case."

"I sure hope so," she muttered quietly. "And I hope he doesn't plan to take over…" she added as Haviland strolled around to the front of his car to meet them.

"Deputy McCallen. Sheriff Jones," he smiled, extending his hand in greeting. "John Haviland, Portland PD," he introduced himself formally as he shook hands first with Emma, then with the deputy.

"It's nice to finally meet you in person, Sergeant," McCallen replied, "especially now that our joint investigation got a lot more complicated."

"Yes, indeed," Haviland stated. "That would be an understatement." He gave the deputy a polite smile before turning to Emma. "Sheriff, I do hope that your husband's condition is improving?"

"It is. He's anxious to go home, but first he wants to make sure that the men who put him in that hospital room are brought to justice."

"That's certainly what I hope to do," Haviland assured her, unconsciously raking his fingers through his jet black hair as a breeze blew it over his forehead. He had to make a decision about how to broach the subject of their new suspect and chose to dive right in with a very straightforward statement. "McCallen mentioned that your husband identified Donovan Donleavy as the person who assaulted him."

"He saw Donleavy's photograph in today's paper and positively identified him," McCallen added for clarification before Emma could respond.

"He could pick Donleavy out of a line up if it came to that?" the sergeant questioned.

"Definitely," Emma stated emphatically, hands at her hip and elbows thrust out in a defiant pose, clearly irritated that Haviland wasn't convinced that Killian had identified the man who stabbed him. "Trust me – Killian never forgets the face of someone who's crossed him."

"I believe you, Sheriff," Haviland stated, noting the frustration evident in her voice. "This sure looked like just a botched robbery, but it sure isn't sounding that way any longer." He leaned back against the front bumper of his car as he pondered the facts. "Donleavy is the owner of a large construction company… What's in this for him? Stabbing a random stranger doesn't seem to fit any business plan I've ever encountered…"

"My husband overheard him saying something to one of those wanna be robbers that they were supposed to abduct Jean Scott. Killian just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time and disrupted the plan with a single gold coin." Emma explained the potential motive that her husband had laid out with his description of Sunday afternoon's events.

"Jean Scott? The coffee shop owner they tried to rob?" the sergeant asked for clarification.

"Yes," she replied. "It sounds to me like they were out to scare her but we don't know why."

"Have you asked her about any personal or professional history with Donleavy or Leviant Construction?" Haviland inquired, curious himself what connection the two individuals might have.

"Not yet," McCallen responded this time. "I'm meeting with her in about an hour."

Haviland absentmindedly scratched his nose as he continued to contemplate the complexity of their case and the new angle that this information provided, his dark eyes lighting up as he was reminded of a little fact that could be relevant.

"I recall reading something recently about Donleavy's company being one of the bidders in the contract battle to build the new Portland ferry terminal. The city planning commission isn't scheduled to vote on it for a couple of weeks but maybe this is part of some ploy to tip the scales in his favor? A little land grab of surrounding properties?" He was speculating out loud but Emma was nodding in full agreement.

"Ms. Scott did mention offers to buy her shop, but she wasn't intending to sell," she offered, adding credence to his theory.

"Hiring two anonymous men to rob and possibly abduct her would seem to be taking things a bit too far, but this is big business here. That terminal contract is worth millions," Haviland informed them. "I've got a few connections over at City Hall. Let me go see what I can dig up about the terminal project and the bid process. In the meantime, I'd like to know what you learn from Ms. Scott. If she's been harassed by Donleavy in the past, we might be able to better define the possible motive."

"Certainly, Sergeant," McCallen insisted. "I'll turn over all of my case notes as soon as I return from our meeting."

"Good. Do we have any other evidence to back this up though or just Mr. Jones' witness account?" Haviland wondered.

"Right now, just his account," the deputy answered. "I have a call in to the harbormaster to see if the partial vessel name that Mr. Jones was able to provide matches any craft owned by Donleavy and if it happened to be docked there Sunday morning. If we find the boat, maybe we can find traces of Mr. Jones' blood or his fingerprints to corroborate his story…?"

"You may be getting a bit ahead of yourself, Deputy," Haviland warned. "We'd have to get a warrant to search the vessel and even assuming we do, Donleavy likely cleaned up any potential evidence. We're going to need a lot more than the word of a wounded man from out of town to make this case." Emma hated to admit it as she set her jaw in frustration, but Haviland was correct. They needed more evidence before they could make a direct accusation. "Sheriff, did your husband happen to see the faces of the two masked men who took him hostage or only Donleavy's?"

"He managed to pull the mask off of one of them before he was stabbed," Emma replied. "And punched the other one hard enough to leave a black eye as nasty as the one he's sporting."

"I'm awaiting a call back from our sketch artist to see if we can get a composite put together," McCallen added. "Just haven't heard back from her yet, but of course, it's still early today."

"That's a good place to start," Haviland agreed. "Did your husband give any indication that Donleavy and the masked bandits might know each other?"

"I certainly got that impression from the way Killian described their interaction. They didn't sound like strangers, but we don't know for sure," she said.

"You know – maybe we should take a look at Leviant Construction employees too. Maybe he found someone within his own ranks to do some of his dirty work? I think I can do an employee database search without raising too many red flags. We might even have DMV photos on file that your husband can take a look at and see if anyone looks familiar."

"You're thinking Donleavy might have given a little sidework to one or more of his employees? Intimidate someone who might not have been willing to sell to him…?" Emma quickly caught on to Haviland's thought process.

"Precisely," was Haviland's response. "I'll get back in touch with you either later today or first thing tomorrow and we'll compare notes."

"Sounds good to me," Emma responded, knowing full well that they had a lot of ground to cover. "Appreciate you keeping us as part of the investigation."

"Why wouldn't I?" Haviland chuckled. "You know how difficult it is to bring another detective up to speed? You already have a rapport with one of our witnesses and you're married to the other. I'd much rather work with someone who already knows what's going on. Just remember to do your best to keep things under the radar or we may find ourselves in a whole heap of trouble…"

 _Portland Medical Center_

Sgt. Havilland drove away in his department-issue Ford, vanishing down the ramp as his colleagues stepped back inside the waiting elevator. Emma knew they had a whole list of new questions for Jean Scott but first she needed to find and chat with Regina because she needed a few favors and hopefully, the Queen would be in a cooperative mood. Asking McCallen to give her half an hour or so to sort out a few things with her family, she hurried upstairs while texting Henry to find out if Regina was even here yet. He rapidly responded with a yes and a message that they were in the lounge on the opposite end of the floor from Killian's room - but where all of the vending machines were located.

Emma rounded the corner from the elevator bank to find mother and son seated in a pair of matching taupe faux leather armchairs – Henry with a paper cup of hot chocolate in his hands and Regina taking a dainty sip of whatever the machine was attempting to pass off as coffee. The Queen surprisingly looked more casual than usual today wearing only a pair of black wool slacks and a ruby red cashmere pullover instead of her more businesslike attire and Emma hoped that along with the softened exterior would come a willingness to help them out.

"Regina – thank you for coming down here to get Henry," Emma said upon entering the visitor lounge.

"It was the least I could do," Regina replied. "Like I told him yesterday, you've got enough to worry about…"

"That's certainly a gross understatement…," Emma sighed. "Hey, Kid – could I have a few minutes for a mom's conference here?"

"Yeah, sure," the teen responded, noticeably nervous that he would likely be the subject of the conversation.

"Why don't you go back down to the room?" Emma suggested.

"But Killian isn't back yet…," he reminded her.

"That's fine. You can be there when he does get back," she said to which her son simply shrugged, stood up and headed toward the opposite end of the building without further argument.

"So, what else did he do besides disobeying you yesterday morning?" Regina wondered.

"Nothing. Henry's been fine. What I needed to talk to you about has nothing to do with him."

"What then?" Regina said, her face reflecting both confusion and a little annoyance.

"Do you have any way to get in touch with Ursula?" Emma asked straightforwardly causing Regina to nearly choke on a mouthful of coffee.

"Can you repeat that?" the Queen asked her, bewildered by the out of the blue request.

"Is there any way you know of to reach Ursula?" Emma repeated her question.

"Why on Earth would you need to get in touch with the Sea Witch?" Regina scoffed. "Last I heard, she was still making amends with Daddy…"

"Killian swears that she rescued him when he nearly drowned."

"Just how long was that Pirate of yours deprived of oxygen?"

"Regina, I don't think he's making it up, but I want to try to talk to her anyway… I mean, if she did save him, why didn't she let me know somehow? She plucked him out of the water but then just left him alone on that beach to bleed to death?"

"Well, if the witch…," Regina started voicing her reply, then stopped herself as a nurse strode by. "…if Ursula found him," she continued in a more hushed tone, "maybe she had her own motives for not coming to tell anyone, but honestly, its probably a lot more likely that your husband hallucinated the whole thing."

"Which is precisely why I want to ask Ursula if she had anything to do with it. I'm sure there has to be some magical method of contacting her and if there is – you'd be someone I'm sure would know how…"

"There's a conch shell back in Storybrooke that can be used to summon her. I believe your husband was actually the last to use it but I think it was returned to my vault. I'll see if I can locate it when I get back. What am I supposed to do if I find it though?"

"Summon her and see if she'll be willing to meet me somewhere here in Portland?"

"Fine. I'll have Henry help me search for the shell tonight."

"Great. Thanks," Emma smiled. "I just need one more small favor…"

"Another favor?" Regina asked with a hint of disdain.

"I just need you and Henry to stick around a little bit longer. I need to go talk to the store owner where Killian was abducted but I don't want him to be left here alone and I can't exactly get a message to him right now to tell him where I'm going… Do you think you would be able to stay here for maybe another hour or two?"

"You want me to babysit the pirate?"

"I want you to be there when he gets back from Radiology and then keep him company for a few minutes – and by the way, please don't say the P word so loudly around here. No one here knows about that…."

"Fine – but no more than two hours. I've got to be back before 2PM because I have a spa date with my sister"

"Thank you. I'll definitely be back in less than two hours so you'll make it to your mani-pedi appointment in plenty of time."

 _Wednesday afternoon, Portland Harbor_

A day after their first visit, things appeared a little less chaotic at Scott's Mart. While her CLOSED sign still hung on the front door, a hand lettered message was posted above it which stated _Reopening Thursday._ Inside, the shelving that the shop owner had been replacing yesterday was repaired and fully restocked in preparation to return to normal business. As Emma and McCallen approached the entrance, they could see Jean Scott atop a stepladder, busy replacing a burned out spotlight over her cash register. McCallen knocked forcefully on the glass door to draw her attention, waving when Jean glanced over to see what the racket was.

"Hang on a sec…," Jean shouted, giving the pair she'd met yesterday a smile and a wave back at them. She finished twisting the new bulb into place before backing down the ladder and hurrying over to unlock the door. "Sorry – lost track of time a bit while I tried to finish up a few more things around here so I can get this place back open tomorrow. I've lost too much money already this week staying closed but it took me a while to decide I was ready to get back to normal."

"Well, we're sorry to bother you again, Ms. Scott," McCallen began, "but a few more questions have arisen and we really need some additional clarification from you."

"Sure," Jean replied, inviting the sheriff and deputy inside. "C'mon in. I'm not sure if I'll have the answers for you, but you're welcome to ask."

"Thank you," Emma spoke up. "We're hoping you can shed some light on a potential motive for Sunday's events that my husband hinted at when he gave us his account of what happened."

"So he's okay?" Jean asked, momentarily interrupting Emma, but her concern for the man who'd possibly saved her life was genuine. "Was he able to fill in some of the blanks I couldn't help with?"

"Yes, he woke up yesterday afternoon and while he's nowhere near 100%, he's going to be okay," Emma replied. "His memory is still a little spotty but he did remember hearing the men who attacked him discussing you. Apparently, part of their plan was to kidnap and intimidate you. The so-called robbery may have been just a ruse to get to you."

"Me?" Jean asked incredulously, surprised by Emma's statement. "Why would someone want to kidnap me? Wouldn't have gotten them anything… I don't know anyone who'd have paid any type of ransom…"

"We don't think this had anything to do with money," McCallen explained. "Well, at least not in that respect."

"When we were here yesterday, you mentioned that you'd been receiving a lot of unwanted offers to sell," Emma jumped in, elaborating on McCallen's statement.

"Yeah, I've had quite a few," Jean responded, "especially since it was announced that the city was planning to rebuild the ferry terminal. A lot of the city planners would love to see this end of the harbor redeveloped to be trendier and have more tourist appeal but there are a lot if people out there who rely on little local shops like mine or places Mac's down the road. A few businesses caved and sold, but a few of us are hanging in there for the locals – the fishermen and dock workers who are slowly running out of options."

"Have you encountered anyone who's been particularly aggressive?" Emma wondered.

"Oh, sure – there have been a few pushy ones who keep coming by with offers but I'd have to say the most obnoxious has been Leviant. They bought up the empty lot over there a month ago," she said while stabbing a finger to the left. "I've heard similar stories from a few others around here that they've been aggressively trying to buy up additional properties."

"Leviant Construction?" McCallen asked for clarification.

"That's the one," Jean replied. "I've read in the paper that they'll likely win the contract to build the new terminal, but it's half a block from here. There has to be something else in the works or why else would they want to buy up a bunch of old businesses?"

"Why is definitely the big question here," Emma said as she leaned back against the counter next to the cash register thinking out her next question. "Ms. Scott, how many other businesses here on the harbor front have been approached by Leviant – what's your best guess?"

"I don't know for sure. There aren't a lot of us left… I know Mac was for sure and maybe the Smiths down at the boat rental shop. They're close to retirement age though and their kid moved to Texas so he doesn't want to take over the business. They might have already sold." Jean scratched at her chin as pieces started to fall into place for her. "You think the robbery attempt on Sunday was someone trying to strong arm me into selling and you might just be right…"

"We're thinking that was their intent," Emma began, "but my husband managed to mess up their plans."

"They sure seemed like they were after money – especially the way they jumped at his offer of gold really quick," Jean said, reminding Emma that the shop owner didn't yet know about the third man involved because they hadn't known that bit of information yesterday.

"Well, the two who busted into your place weren't working alone," Emma revealed. "There was another man involved – the one who was calling the shots and the one who stabbed my husband. Killian saw his face before they threw him overboard and this morning, he identified that man from a photograph in the newspaper but we needed some corroboration from you that you'd had dealings with our suspect…"

"I can't believe this is for real," Jean sighed. "Someone tried to kill your husband because they want my little piece of real estate?" She was struggling to grasp how her property might be worth a man's life… "I can't believe that someone could stoop so low or be that desperate to try to frighten me into selling."

"Unfortunately, it seems someone would stoop that low," McCallen responded this time, "and so far, every finger is pointing back to Leviant Construction, but it's all just circumstantial right now."

"Damn…," Jean sighed. "I had no idea…" The tough-talking blonde was suddenly wavering, her composure cracking as she realized that she could have been the one who had ended up tossed into the bay to perish. "Mr. Donleavy has been by here several times and I mean, he's a pompous ass, but I never thought my land was worth killing over… He's the one though, isn't he?"

"We think so," Emma answered. "When was the last time you had any interaction with Mr. Donleavy or anyone from Leviant?"

"Thursday before last," Jean replied. "The city planning commission was down here holding a press conference about the ferry terminal revitalization as they called it and Mr. Donleavy came around with yet another offer to buy my shop. I told him once again that I wasn't interested in selling and tore up his offer envelope. He said I'd change my mind soon."

"Sounds like a bit of a threat," McCallen chimed in. "Did you tell anyone what he'd said to you?"

"Who would I tell?" the shop owner replied with a shrug. "No one overheard it and honestly, until today, I thought it was just posturing on his part. He doesn't seem the type who likes to take no for an answer, but he didn't intimidate me – at least not then."

"Well, we know about the threat now, Ms. Scott," the deputy stated. "I'll talk to the Sheriff about stepping up patrols around the harbor for the next few days, but we'd really like for you to try to go about business as usual. If you have any contact from Donleavy or anyone else from Leviant Construction, I want you to call me immediately. It won't be easy to build a case against him unless we can catch him making a mistake and while I can't say with 100% certainty that he's behind this, its highly likely and we don't want you to be caught off guard."

"I really want to hope you're wrong," Jean sighed, "but I can't convince myself of it. I just can't believe someone could be so awful…"

"I've seen people stoop a lot further for even pettier interests," Emma lamented.

"Well, when you catch the son of a bitch, punch him straight in the face for me," Jean said with a smirk. "I'll leave the rest for you and your husband to decide."


	13. Chapter 12

_Finally back with a short chapter update here. It's been a busy month but I'm looking forward to having this week off and hopefully getting a lot done - including finding time to get some writing done! I'm calling this the transitional chapter as I'm going to start wrapping up this tale now that we know who was behind the robbery and a small portion of why. You'll see that Emma's focus is definitely going to be catching the bad guys and getting home._

 _Wednesday afternoon, Portland Medical Center_

Trying to be polite and to ensure she wasn't going to further impose on Regina, Emma sent a brief message advising that she and Deputy McCallen were on their way back, making it to the hospital's front entrance by noon. McCallen dropped her off with a promise to try to get some sleep himself before returning later that day for another overnight shift. He also assured her that he would contact her if he received any news from Sgt. Haviland or if the sketch artist called him back to schedule a time to work with Killian on a composite drawing – although Haviland's suggestion that they look into Leviant Construction employees first seemed a prefect place to start.

With a cordial smile directed toward the deputy assigned to guard duty, Emma pushed open the door to her husband's room to find that Regina and Henry had moved both of the chairs over to the window where they sat quietly conversing. A quick glance to her right revealed why as Killian lay soundly asleep on the bed. They must have been concerned that they'd wake him.

"Made it back in plenty of time," Emma announced in a soft voice aa she made her way around the bed. "If you hit the road now, you'll make your 2pm spa appointment easily."

"I already postponed it until 3 just to be safe," Regina replied curtly. "Henry, please get your things together."

"Everything's right here in my backpack," the teen responded.

"Fine. Why don't you say your goodbyes then and we'll be on our way back to Storybrooke. Doesn't look like your stepfather is going to wake up though." Looking up at Emma, the Queen continued with an explanation. "They brought him in about twenty minutes after you left but he hasn't even twitched. Didn't have to do much of anything to keep him company and in fact, I doubt he even knew I was here."

"I wouldn't have thought that X-rays would wear him out so much," Emma began, beginning to wonder if there was more to the story. "He did have a pretty active morning, so maybe everything just took its toll on him."

"Well, I've got to get back to town. Keep us posted on what's going on down here. When do you think you'll be back?"

"Not really sure," Emma replied. "No one's really discussed a release date but I'm hoping we'll get some answers today so I can figure out when I'm bringing him home, although I still might need to travel back here to help the investigation…"

"Because you don't have enough work on your plate in Storybrooke?" Regina asked snidely, her suddenly snippy question catching Emma off guard.

"Because I can help catch the people who attacked and tried to kill my husband," Emma replied, taking the defensive and nearly matching Regina's tone. "I intend to see this case through. Why is it all of a sudden such an issue?" Henry hung back silently as what had been a normal conversation between his moms escalated drastically and he wasn't about to get caught in the middle. It was an awkward, tense position for the young man so he was relieved when the Queen backed down with a loud, emphatic sigh.

"It's not an issue…," Regina relented. "I'm sorry – I just really, really dislike hospitals. There's a reason my curse put certain people into them… Just get back home when you can. I'd much rather have my regular, magic-wielding sheriff on duty…"

"I had no idea you were bothered by hospitals," Emma responded. "I wouldn't have asked you to stay if I had known."

"It's fine. After all of the awful things I've done, the least I could do was suck it up and babysit your pirate for a few hours."

"Thank you. I'll be back as soon as I help put these guys behind bars."

"I gather you at least have a lead on who his assailants were?"

"We do."

"I suppose I could whip up some truth serum if you think that would help?" Regina offered.

"Not sure that would stand up in court, but I appreciate the offer," Emma smiled, thankful that the brewing tension had broken before Killian woke and got dragged into an argument. "You two better get on the road though. It was starting to cloud over like it was going to rain…"

"Better rain than snow, I guess," Regina sighed. "Come on, Henry. We've got to get going."

"Okay, Mom. I'll meet you at the elevator. Just want to have a moment…"

"Of course," Regina said as she collected her black wool coat from the back of her chair and started walking toward the door. Henry waited until she had stepped into the hallway before turning his attention back to Emma.

"I'm sorry I snuck into the Bug yesterday," he apologized.

"It's okay, Kid. You're still in trouble for not obeying me, but for now, you're forgiven. I'm kinda glad you did it because I'm not sure how I'd have held up if I'd have been here alone."

"Tell Killian I'll see him back at home in a few days and we'll work on getting the Jolly Roger back home too."

"Okay, I will," she snickered as she hugged her son. "Guess I'd better go track down the nurse to find out how things went this morning…"

"You'll let us know what you find out and when you're coming home?"

"As soon as I know anything, I promise to let everyone know. Now – you'd better go before Regina has another mini-meltdown. Sounds like she's anxious to get out of here."

"Okay, Mom. See you in a few days." He tossed his backpack up onto his shoulder and grabbed his own jacket off of the closet doorknob before disappearing out of the door, leaving his mother standing in the middle of the room wearing a lopsided grin. She didn't move right away – just stood there thinking about what she needed to do next, but her motivation had drained away. She finally dragged her chair back to Killian's bedside and let herself sink down into it as she watched him sleep.

"It's just you and me now, Pirate," she smiled as scooted as close to his side as she could get without actually disturbing him – close enough to hear the hiss of the oxygen passing through the narrow plastic tube stretched across his face and the slight whistle his lips made as he exhaled. His head lolled in her direction as his eyes barely opened to slits – just enough to acknowledge that his wife had returned. He managed to give her a very drowsy, fleeting smile before closing his eyes and drifting back into slumber. "It's okay. You just sleep. I'm going to go find Jackie…"

* * *

The updates Emma received from the redheaded nurse were decidedly mixed. His X-ray images – once they managed to get them done – showed significant improvement. Most of the fluid was gone which drastically decreased his chances of developing a severe bout of pneumonia but they'd had an awful time getting any clear images due to another coughing fit - one that led to him inevitably retching until he was physically exhausted. He'd been so miserable that he agreed to a sedative so he could sleep through the remainder of the procedure – which ultimately proved a success and also pinpointed the likely cause of his lingering fever – an abscess that had formed beneath the sutures on his back. With him already sedated, a surgeon was able to reopen the incision and drain the grape-sized abscess before it grew any larger. The wound had been sutured closed again and the doctor had ordered a more aggressive antibiotic in hopes of staving off any redevelopment but the prognosis was very positive.

The best news Jackie had provided was that if his fever broke and his temperature remained in the normal range for at least 24 hours, Dr. Wallace had advised that Killian could be discharged as early as Friday. He obviously wouldn't be permitted to return to deputy duties for a couple of weeks, but at least he could go home. Emma chuckled a bit at the minimum two week window he was being given to return to work since she knew it wouldn't be necessary at all as soon as they crossed the Storybrooke town line where she could properly heal him.

She couldn't wait to share the news with her husband once he woke, but for now, she was going to take advantage of this time to locate something to appease her growling stomach as she remembered she hadn't yet had breakfast. There must be something available downstairs in the cafeteria that she could grab and get back here before the sedative wore off… Killian was bound to be full of questions, not that she had a whole lot of new answers for him, but no matter what, she wasn't tackling it on an empty stomach.

* * *

Waking to a piercing bright light, Killian knew he was no longer in the darkened chamber where the ginger nurse had left him for the X-rays. He didn't remember much about the experience save for having another bloody fit of hacking until he vomited, but after that, events became a little fuzzy. He recalled feeling extremely tired and now as he awakened, there was a renewed ache in his back, almost as if he'd been stabbed once again. A small measure of relief came in seeing proof he hadn't imagined that Emma had returned to his side when he'd stirred briefly earlier, but he found himself now wondering precisely how much time he'd lost track of as he stretched out his legs and inadvertently startled his wife.

"Damnit, Killian…," she exclaimed with a breathless giggle when his sudden movement caught her unprepared. "You're going to give me a heart attack!"

"What time is it?" he asked, oblivious to her flustered response.

"It's after one. Heard you had a bit of a rough time down in Radiology…"

"It would appear that way – although I can't say I recall much after the bloody coughing returned with a vengeance. Did anything good come of it?"

"As a matter of fact, it did," she replied, moving from the chair to squeeze her hips next to him on the narrow bed. "They said your lungs look good for a man who nearly drowned a few days ago. Most of the fluid is gone so they're less concerned about pneumonia developing and they also found what's been causing your fever – you had an abscess forming beneath the sutures on your back. They were able to get it drained and stitched back up while you were unconscious."

"That would certainly explain why I feel as though I've been run through once again…"

"I'm sure we can get you some pain meds for that but at least the good news is – if your fever breaks and stays away, you might get to go home on Friday!"

"Another two days here?" he grumbled, clearly less enthusiastic than his wife over the prospect of being discharged.

"It's not that bad – and it will give us some time to work with McCallen and Haviland to take down the men who put you here."

"Then allow me to go after them…," he growled. "They won't get the best of me again…"

"That's not how it works and you know it," she warned. "At least we have one advantage at this point – Donleavy doesn't know you survived. I don't think he put two and two together to believe that you might be the John Doe found on that island beach. Like you told me – you were too far from shore. He believes you drowned and certainly wouldn't have had the slightest idea that you'd been rescued by a powerful witch who this realm doesn't even believe exists. It gives us a slight edge, but it won't for long. As soon as we start asking questions, it will start raising eyebrows which is why I'm taking you back to Storybrooke as soon as I can…"

"No," he replied firmly, almost surprising her with the degree of conviction in his voice. "I intend to be part of seeing this through and I won't be pushed aside. I know what one of the robbers looks like – the rest of you do not."

"And we're working on that. Sgt. Haviland is going to try getting photos of Leviant Construction employees for you to look at because we think it could be pretty likely that he hired someone he already knew for a little side job and both McCallen and Haviland are trying to get an available sketch artist to come work with you to develop a composite drawing. We're not trying to push you aside, but I want to make sure you're safe."

"I'm staying here – with you – until that man and his partners are captured."

"This isn't the time to be stubborn, Killian. Even if they release you, you still won't be completely healed. We don't know exactly how dangerous this man could be and I don't want you diving into the fray when you're still wounded and possibly might get hurt worse if something goes wrong…"

"Then you take me back to Storybrooke, heal all of this with your magic and we return – together."

"And how do we explain to McCallen and Haviland that you're suddenly showing no signs of injury?"

"I could feign enough discomfort to be convincing. Wouldn't be the first time… Either way, Love, it's for me to decide. I'll try to stay out of the main fracas, but I'm not leaving Portland until the man who attacked me is dealt with," he chided and she could tell from the steely cast to his blue eyes that his mind was made up and there would be no backing away. "Now, onto the next – what else have we learned since this morning?"

"Why do I even bother attempting to reason with you?" she lamented, shaking her head in mock disgust as he grinned, leaning in closer to her and nuzzling his nose into the nape of her neck, playfully nipping at her right ear as her unruly blonde locks tickled his skin. He somehow managed to find a method to break her resolve and no matter how much she wanted him to stay out of this, he'd won this battle – even if she couldn't actually see the smug, satisfied smirk he wore as he relished his victory. "Fine – but we play this by the book – got it?"

"Of course, Love," he grinned, planting a kiss against the exposed skin behind her ear.

"Then I guess you'd better listen up, Pirate. We've got a lot to cover."

She took approximately twenty minutes recapping her conversations with Sgt. Haviland and Jean Scott to bring her husband up to speed on what they knew of the ferry terminal project and Leviant Construction's pursuit of Ms. Scott's property and likely others in the area. (Intentionally omitting McCallen's confession as she felt it wasn't the time for that revelation nor did she feel it was pertinent to the investigation) Killian found the company's desire to purchase the property somewhat confusing as his understanding of a construction firm was that they built structures onto existing plots of land that they didn't necessarily own themselves. That anomaly was what Emma herself had been hung up on as well as she couldn't get beyond thinking that the new ferry terminal, being built on the same site as the existing one where the harbor had been properly dredged to accommodate the large vessel, wasn't adjacent to the sites that Leviant appeared interested in. The properties close to the existing terminal would seem to be the more valuable locations for development if this was solely about potentially selling the acquired land back to the city for any expansion projects. So then why were these more distant properties being targeted? Price?

She was even more eager now to learn what Haviland might uncover at City Hall because something just wasn't fitting. They had nearly all of their puzzle pieces laid out before them, but a few glaring omissions remained. Hopefully, Haviland would also come through with those employee photos so they could learn if the unmasked robber was amongst those ranks because she was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain her patience when they were so close…

So close…

* * *

Killian had been uncharacteristically quiet through lunch, eating the soup he'd been offered slowly as his brain pondered what their next move should be. She knew he was still harboring a little irritation that she'd wanted to exclude him from the rest of the investigation and not allow him to be involved in the capture of his assailant and she certainly reciprocated the emotion as she'd prefer he just stay out of the way so he wouldn't get hurt again, but it wasn't lost on her that were their positions reversed, she wouldn't be able to willingly back away either.

She'd taken a few minutes to think while venturing to the cafeteria to purchase her own lunch, automatically selecting her favorite comfort foods in attempt to clear her mind. She fought the temptation to just eat here where she wouldn't be distracted and wouldn't feel as though she were taunting him with the aroma of real food, but she was harboring just enough vindictiveness that she decided to eat her grilled cheese sandwich and golden fried onion rings right in front of him – not that he'd give her the satisfaction of jealousy. He didn't particularly care for her favorite foods so it wasn't near as enjoyable as it might have been when she flipped open the lid of the white foam takeout container and inhaled the savory scents of onion and cheddar – eliciting a surprising burst of laughter from her husband.

"Swan – I swear there are times when you look at a sandwich with more lust in your gaze than you bestow on me!"

"Food is love too, mister," she reminded him, trying to ignore his cajoling and simply enjoy her food now that it was clear her tease hadn't had the effect she'd intended. Damnit – he'd gotten under her skin again, she thought as she choked back a giggle. "Now quit it – you're going to make me laugh too hard to eat my food. You just enjoy your soup…"

They were both chucking like fools when Emma's phone chirped loudly to alert her of a newly received message. She set the foam container onto the nightstand before fishing for her cellphone.

"Duty calls?" he asked, pushing away what remained of his so-called soup which really was little more than chicken broth with a few spoonfuls of rice added. He was anxious to discover if it was an important message.

"It's from McCallen. I figured he'd probably still be asleep so something big must have come up…" She tapped on the electronic screen a few times, opening the text message the deputy had sent. "Says Haviland uncovered something interesting and wants us to meet him later this afternoon. They'll be here around four to discuss it."

"Good," Killian stated. "I hope it's something relevant enough to hang Donleavy."

"They don't hang people anymore," she reminded him, "but we'll soon find out." She tapped out a reply rapidly, acknowledging that they'd received the message. "Okay – I let him know that we got it and will see them in a couple of hours. Now – we wait…"


	14. Chapter 13

_Wednesday afternoon, Portland Medical Center_

Four o'clock couldn't arrive fast enough as both Emma and Killian tried to speculate on what Haviland may have discovered while digging through records at City Hall. More potential ideas had of course crossed her mind than his but then she knew the workings of this world far better than he did – not that he was a stranger to the probabilities of fraud, greed and deceit being at play here. Of all of them, he had the most unique perspective in evaluating Donleavy's motives but he wasn't about to let their Portland colleagues know precisely where that insight came from. There was certainly an element of piracy to Donleavy's tactics in his pursuit of his eventual goal – whatever that might be. They were just missing that final piece.

The pirate was also quite insistent that he wouldn't be spending this collaborative session laying in that hospital bed, preferring to sit in the chair instead so he wouldn't be viewed as an invalid. In truth, he would rather they met anywhere but this room, but at least here they had a measure of privacy and that was a far bigger priority. As far as he was concerned, he had spent more than enough time staring at these alabaster walls. He wanted a glimpse of the sea – wanted to return to the deck of his ship, but he'd conceded only because there was still much work to do and at least his attentions remained occupied.

Not surprisingly, McCallen was the first to arrive, exhausted but nonetheless determined. This was his first major case and a little sleep deprivation wasn't about to deter him. He'd catch a nap later if necessary but he was extremely anxious to find out what this bit of new information might be. As he approached the entrance to the room, the young deputy knocked politely on the doorframe before entering even though Emma had left the door open.

"Okay to come in, Sheriff?" he asked while awaiting permission to enter.

"C'mon in, McCallen," Emma replied with a subtle shake of her head. "We're just sitting here running theories of what Sgt. Haviland might have turned up." The deputy accepted her invitation and stepped into the room to find Emma seated atop the bed with her legs crossed in front of her. A tiny smile slithered across his lips when he spied the man whose bruised, battered and comatose body he'd photographed for evidence just days ago now seated in the bedside chair, barely recognizable from the John Doe he'd been tasked to identify. Save for the black eye that was just beginning to yellow around the edges, McCallen saw little of that nameless victim anymore – just a fellow deputy who'd adapted to a disability as he himself had been forced to.

A fellow deputy who had no intention of being viewed as the victim any longer – and McCallen had nothing but respect for that decision.

"Thanks," McCallen responded as he shrugged off his weathered olive suede bomber jacket. "Sgt. Haviland texted me that he's on his way. I guess we should have given him your number too."

"Good idea," Emma agreed. "I'll have to remember to do that before he leaves today. Did he give you any idea of what he might have found?"

"Not a clue. He just mentioned he'd uncovered something interesting," the deputy replied. "Let me go find another chair before he gets here though." He tossed his jacket onto the chair by the window before heading back out into the hallway in search of a chair he could borrow from another area, managing to return before Haviland arrived with a wooden chair proffered from a presently unoccupied room next door. He positioned that chair in front of the closet before taking a seat in what had been Henry's preferred spot next to the window – close enough to be fully involved in the conversation yet far enough away so he didn't feel as though he were imposing. He was well aware that he was the least experienced investigator so he was more than willing to allow the others to take center stage.

"Sheriff Jones?" Haviland's voice called tentatively from the doorway as though unsure he had the correct room despite the armed deputy seated just to his right in the corridor. "Ah - looks like I've found the right place," he said when he spotted Deputy McCallen seated opposite where he stood.

"You have," Emma spoke up, turning to see the Portland PD sergeant as he entered the room. "Why don't you shut that door behind you so we can start comparing notes? I'm guessing you must have found something big?"

"You could say that," Haviland replied as he pushed the door closed and made his way past the bed toward the empty chair McCallen had brought for him, but before he took a seat, he paused to introduce himself to Killian. "Mr. Jones," I'm John Haviland. I was originally assigned to investigate the robbery at Scott's Mart where I of course saw you on the security video. From what I could see of it, you handled that situation like an absolute pro and I'm quite glad I could finally meet you – especially considering all of the circumstances involved here. I just apologize that on that day when my officers were investigating the robbery, we didn't know just how far the crime actually extended."

"Don't think there was really any way you could have known the half of it – at least until I managed to get myself dragged into this," Killian stated, "and they clearly didn't expect me to survive…"

"No – pretty sure they didn't," Haviland replied. "Guess you were lucky in that respect."

"It's a damned good thing those fishermen came along when they did," Killian said, using the official story that the Cumberland County Sheriff's Department had documented, not about to divulge the finer details of his rescue. "Anyway - enough about that. We know we're all convened here this afternoon to learn what you've uncovered, not further discuss my rescue."

"Indeed, we are," Haviland responded with a knowing grin, not at all surprised to learn that Killian Jones was every bit as tenacious and entirely down to business as his wife. He pivoted to his left, contemplating taking the offered seat for a second before choosing to remain standing. "In truth, I have a couple of items to share. I spent most of the day over at City Hall looking over public record documents related to the ferry terminal project. That whole project is fairly straightforward – city wants to modernize and streamline the facility. The bid process to build the new terminal is sealed so there wasn't any way to learn what each company submitted, but according to one of my sources, Leviant definitely looks to be the front-runner."

"So - what might this ferry project have to do with Leviant Construction attempting to purchase properties further north along the harbor? Is there an additional expansion project planned as well?" Killian asked. He might not know a great deal about real estate but he understood the acquisition game.

"Honestly – hardly anything," the sergeant responded. "The new terminal is being built adjacent to the existing one on land they already own. It's the same exact location so the properties up around Ms. Scott's store shouldn't be affected – at least not by the ferry project…"

"What do you mean 'not by the ferry project'?" Emma wondered. "Is there something else going on besides rebuilding the terminal?"

"There might be…," was Haviland's cryptic reply - which only stirred up more confusion.

"Might be? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" an irritated Killian queried.

"Nothing has been officially announced yet but it seems as though the city is looking into redesigning the roads serving the terminal and the north harbor area in an attempt to give commuters easier access to downtown and the freeways," Haviland began. "Rumor has it that they're wanting to build a connector that would loop straight out of the harbor and feed into both Old Port and points north. I found a prospective filed which showed an artist's rendering of the proposed new interchange and if they're to build what this showed, most of the businesses on the north harbor would end up torn town to make room for ramps and a widened main road."

"Sounds like whoever owned those properties would probably end up in an eminent domain battle with the city," McCallen spoke up. "Wouldn't that lower the property values?"

"You'd think that, but my guess is that Donleavy has someone he's likely paying off inside City Hall who alerted him to the road development plans. For all we know, he might be buying up these properties as a way to blackmail the city into awarding his company the contract." The sergeant stated his theory but something about it just didn't click with Emma.

"If Leviant Construction is already the front-runner in the terminal project bid, why go to all of this trouble?" Emma asked. "It sounds like they'll probably get the contract anyway so resorting to strong-arm tactics and blackmail just don't seem to fit…"

"Well, that's where things get interesting," Haviland continued. "It seems that a lawsuit was just filed against Leviant seeking an injunction to halt construction at that huge office tower they're building downtown. It's nearing completion, but an unnamed source documented that Leviant was using shoddy materials during that construction which made the structure unsafe and unlikely to pass inspection. Delays on that project could cost Leviant millions and cause any awarded bids to be voided – and they'd definitely be out even more if inspectors do find fault with the building. That could mean tearing the existing structure down and rebuilding it or scrapping the project entirely. A little leverage against the city could help keep Leviant in the black and might potentially even bury the lawsuit if Donleavy had the right amount against people certain influential positions."

"So – we have the head of a construction company resorting to extortion, blackmail, kidnapping and attempted murder all in an attempt to get one contract?" McCallen was dumbfounded as to how all of this could be connected.

"Well, it is a very valuable contract," Haviland replied. "And likely whatever Mr. Donleavy and Leviant Construction profit from the terminal project would go into damage control for the office tower."

"That's some serious corporate fraud," Emma said with a deep sigh as she massaged her aching temple.

"And if your husband hadn't stumbled into the fray, we might never have had an inkling of what was transpiring," the sergeant stated. "I'm sorry for all you've had to go through the past few days, Mr. Jones, but your dilemma may have tipped us off to the biggest case in Portland history…"

"Guess you really were in the right place at the right time," Emma said with a sarcastic chuckle. "But now – how do we tie it all together and put Donleavy and his cohorts away for good?"

"I've a few ideas," Haviland answered, "but first, let's work on identifying the man that you unmasked." He addressed Killian directly as he withdrew his phone from his right-hand pant pocket. "I had one of my officers run a list of Leviant employees under the guise that this was a favor for INS. I then matched the names to DMV records and compiled a few for you to look at…" He tapped on the glass screen a few times to open the file then passed the phone to Killian with the first DMV file already displayed. "Take a look through these and let me know if any of them look familiar. Just swipe to the left and it'll open the next photo."

Accepting the phone as Haviland passed it to him, Killian positioned it in his hand so that he could use his thumb to page through the files displayed on the tiny electronic screen as Emma had shown him many times before. He focused on the miniscule image of an unknown man's driver's license photograph displayed so he wasn't privy to Haviland's sudden flush of awkward embarrassment at the realization that Killian Jones didn't have a left hand. He started to open his mouth to offer assistance, but quickly stifled himself as his aid might be viewed as offensive.

Emma had spotted Haviland's reaction and nearly spoke up, but chose not to as she recalled the conversation that she'd briefly had yesterday morning with a dispatcher when she'd only been transferred to speak to McCallen after giving Killian's description and providing the piece that had been missing from the news story – the fact that her husband was missing his left hand. Clearly the alert that had gone out from the Sheriff's Department to other local law enforcement must have omitted that detail as well and the security video that Haviland had viewed would have shown Killian's prosthetic hand - which unless you were up close - wasn't really noticeable as being artificial. Even Jean Scott - who'd gone on and on about the mysterious, handsome British man who'd been taken hostage to spare her - hadn't noticed that he was an amputee. It was obvious that the sergeant was reeling a bit from the surprise, but as she'd decided after learning about McCallen's prosthetic foot, neither of their disabilities were pertinent to getting the job done so she simply kept her mouth shut and hoped that Haviland would come to the same conclusion.

Killian in the meantime had thumbed through four of the DMV files, quickly dismissing the ones that didn't meet the right criteria – too old, too tall, too portly – but he'd paused at the fifth photograph.

"Can you make this image any larger?" he asked, offering the device back to Haviland hoping he would be able to adjust the size of the photograph displayed as he had already determined he was lacking the dexterity to complete the task himself without fear of possibly dropping the sergeant's phone.

"Sure. Do you want me to enlarge just the face?" Haviland asked.

"Please," Killian replied as the image was zoomed in to display just the face of a twenty-three year old blond haired man. Haviland turned the phone around to show Killian the enlarged photo and Emma knew instantly from the way her husband's jaw suddenly clenched that he recognized the man. "That's the younger man – the one I pulled the mask from. I'm sure of it."

"Great – let's see who he is…," Haviland began as he adjusted the image back to the view of the full Maine driver's license so he could read the man's name and contact information again. "Benjamin Toliver, age twenty-three," he recited from the display.

"Guess we need to have a talk with Mr. Toliver," Emma stated, confident that this could be the break they'd been looking for.

"Should we bring him in for questioning?" McCallen wondered.

"I think maybe we should go to him," she suggested. "Bringing him to a police station might raise some red flags. Right now, it doesn't appear that these guys know that Killian is alive. We need to keep it that way as long as possible."

"I agree," Haviland stated. "We shouldn't bring him in just yet. I'd rather start with an approach that might make him a little nervous either at home or at work. He's young and likely inexperienced so he'll probably run straight to his partners."

"I could see the fear in his eyes when I unmasked him," Killian remembered from that afternoon. "Had I not been stabbed, I believe he would have broken down right there and divulged everything. There's little doubt in my mind that he's the weakest link…"

"I just did a quick search of the database and he doesn't have a record but it says he's been working for Leviant Construction for a year. His older brother, Jackson Toliver, is also listed as an employee. This is Jackson…," Haviland flashed the DMV photograph of the older Toliver brother on the screen. "Anything recognizable about him?"

Killian stared at the photograph of Jackson Toliver for a few seconds, straining to recall the look of the eyes behind the mask. "Can you show me just his eyes?" He needed the closest image possible that isolated just the man's eyes to see if they matched the ones he remembered. Haviland zoomed in as much as the device would allow, displaying a cropped image of Toliver's face from his nose up to his hairline. There was a familiarity to the hazel eyes that stared back at him, but the pirate couldn't be entirely sure this was the second robber. Images could be deceiving at times. "My apologies, but I just can't be certain. All I could see was his eyes behind that knitted mask. The color is similar, but I cannot be positive from just that image. I'd need to see the man myself – to hear his voice and hopefully see the impression of my knuckles across his jowls."

"You managed to hit him?" Haviland queried, smiling at the thought that their quarry might have a very visible contusion on his face just like the one they'd given their hostage.

"Of course, I hit him. Rendered the bastard unconscious for a few minutes before I cornered the younger one." The pirate was undoubtedly proud that he'd been able to take on the two thieves - although that pride was smarting just a smidge from his failure to factor in a third partner. "He'll definitely be sporting a few bruises of his own."

"Thank you for that," Haviland grinned. "It'll give us something we can look for to help identify whoever is Benjamin Toliver's partner – whether that might be the brother or someone else. I think maybe we should make a trek over to Leviant Construction's worksite tomorrow morning before it could possibly get shut down by any injunction. We'll go ask Benjamin Toliver a few questions about the robbery at Scott's Mart – just enough to make him nervous – and we'll see who he turns to for help. I'd love for it to be Donleavy, but I'll settle for the other masked partner right now because I've got a very good feeling that we might be able to get those two to turn if we need to."


	15. Chapter 14

_Finally back with an update on The Right Place! I had more challenges getting this chapter to come out the way I wanted but after changing a few things, it is done. This new chapter gives an answer to a question that came up much earlier in the story - was Ursula really involved in Killian's rescue or did he hallucinate it?_

 _Wednesday Evening, Storybrooke, Maine_

Deep beneath the town's cemetery, Regina admitted to herself that she'd lost track of time. Down here amidst the flickering of candlelight, the setting sun wasn't visible to alert her to evening's onset, not that she was going to be deterred by nightfall. She knew that damned shell was here somewhere; she'd tossed it down here herself when Ursula left town years ago with her father, Poseidon. She didn't figure she'd ever have reason to use it again. Of course, things had also gotten a little mixed up when her evil half had been utilizing the vault as well and while her intent had been to reorganize and return everything to its proper place, she hadn't really had the time. After defeating the Evil Queen and sending her off to another realm, the Black Fairy had descended upon them almost immediately.

Never a dull moment around here, that was certain.

"Any luck, Mom?" Henry asked as he reached the bottom step of the stone staircase.

"Not yet, but there are still a couple of chests I haven't gotten to yet."

"Well, I've finished all of today's homework and my make-up work. Can I help you out?" he offered.

"I would appreciate it. I didn't think it would be possible to lose a giant conch shell down here, but the Evil Queen moved some things around and I haven't found time to put everything back in order."

"Where should I start?" Henry wondered, glancing around the vault until his mother pointed him in the direction of two dusty steamer trunks stacked against the earthen wall to the left of the stairs.

"I haven't been through those two yet," she informed him. "Why don't you start with those while I go through this last one over here?"

"Sure. It shouldn't be too hard to tell if a large seashell is inside…"

"You'd be surprised…" Regina muttered under her breath, not wanting Henry to hear.

"Mom sent me a text a little while ago," Henry began as he flipped open the latch on the top trunk, brushing away the cobwebs as he raised the lid. "She said Killian might be released from the hospital on Friday."

"That's good news," Regina replied half-heartedly. "Just be careful around those. Most of that dust is older than you."

"If that's true, then the shell probably wouldn't be in here, would it?" he queried, holding back a sneeze at the cloud of dust particles he'd stirred up just lifting the lid.

"True," was her blunt answer as she realized that she hadn't put the shell into a trunk that she hadn't opened in decades. "Forget about those and come over here. I could use your help with something…"

"Sure," Henry responded, lowering the lid slowly to prevent another dust cloud and replacing the latch before he met his mother on the opposite side of her vault. "What do you need me to do?"

"Help me move this table," she instructed. "I'd almost forgotten about this…" The placed her hands atop a heavy walnut table that was draped with a regal purple and gold cloth and with Henry's help, they moved the table aside to reveal a two foot by three foot woven woolen rug that matched the colors in the tablecloth. "I stashed a few items down here after we learned that my evil half wasn't actually dead, things I didn't want her to get her hands on and since I was convinced she wouldn't harm you, I sealed it with a lock only you could open."

"Me?"

"Who better?" she countered as she rolled away the rug, revealing what appeared to be a metal trap door. "I don't think she ever found this, but either way, only your touch can release the seal, Henry."

"Okay... What do I need to do?"

"Just press your right hand down onto the metal plate and it should pop open."

"Okay…" he repeated as he lowered his palm onto the metal and pushed down. A few sparks flew into the air as the seal released and then the door snapped back against his hand before sliding aside. "Cool!"

"Cool indeed," Regina grinned as she reached inside the trap door and retrieved the conch shell from her secret cache. "I guess I put it in here so that Queenie couldn't contact the Sea Witch, not that she really seemed concerned with aligning herself to anyone besides Zelena, Hyde and Gold."

"So how to we summon Ursula with it?" Henry asked while Regina began extinguishing candles with a flick of her wrist.

"It works pretty much like a trumpet and once we sound the horn, the Sea Witch should appear," she replied, giving her son a gentle push toward the stairs. "Let's get back above ground and I'll show you."

She followed Henry up the stairs and out of the mausoleum, traversing the cemetery grounds to the park before stopping to summon Ursula. Raising the shell to her lips, she blew through it, releasing a sound that wouldn't exactly be described as melodious, but it wasn't as though she were using the shell for its musical qualities. She just needed it to garner the attentions of the Sea Witch herself.

"Regina? Can't say I was expecting you to the be the one summoning me at this hour," Ursula stated as she appeared behind the pair in her fully human form.

"Hello, Ursula," Regina greeted her former ally. "Can't say that summoning you was ever in my plans either but I'm doing it on behalf of a friend…"

"Really?" Ursula questioned Regina's intentions. "A friend asked you to contact me? Whatever for?"

"Well, why don't you tell me – did you really rescue Captain Hook from drowning off the coast of Portland a couple of days ago?" Regina asked directly.

"This is about Hook?" the Sea Witch chuckled. "You summoned me to ask about Captain Hook? Do I even want to know what tall tales he's been telling or how drunk he was?"

"The only tall tale he's telling is that you plucked him out of the water and tossed him onto a beach – and that was of course once he was finally able to tell us…" Regina clarified her prior question with the story that had been relayed to her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ursula demanded. "Yes – I rescued the pirate. Found him nearly-drowned, bobbing in the open ocean so I picked him up and deposited his soggy, probably drunken ass on the nearest beach. I figured once he got dried out and sobered up, he'd walk himself over to the ferry terminal to call his lovely wife…"

"I'm sure if this had been normal circumstances and he had been just a little tipsy, he'd have done just that, but it seems your little fishy senses were off. You didn't happen to notice that he's been stabbed?" Regina just threw it out there, not really caring if she offended Ursula.

"Stabbed?" Ursula's demeanor changed almost instantly. "What do you mean he was stabbed? I found him in the water and assumed he'd fallen overboard or something."

"Unfortunately, the situation was a lot more serious. He was rescued later when a couple of fishermen found him on that beach, but he lay unconscious in a hospital bed for two days because Portland authorities couldn't identify him or figure out how he got onto the beach and no one here knew where he was."

"What a mess she created…" Ursula sighed, her cryptic comment confusing both Regina and Henry. "Is there somewhere we can talk that's a little warmer perhaps? I prefer not to have detailed conversations in dark, dreary cemeteries."

"How about we move to my office?" Regina suggested. Ursula and Henry both nodded in agreement, happy to move this little reunion indoors as the evening chill set in. With a flick of her wrist, she whisked them all to the relative warmth of her office, shrugging off her coat and tossing it atop her desk upon arrival. "How's this?"

"Much better," Ursula replied with a grin, flopping dramatically into one of the two padded arm chairs placed in front of Regina's desk.

"Now that you've made yourself comfortable, how about we discuss what you said before I brought us all here. You said something about a mess someone created?" Regina questioned.

"I probably shouldn't have opened my big mouth back there in the graveyard," Ursula replied disgustedly.

"A little late for that," Regina reminded the Sea Witch. "So, why don't you tell us who you were talking about and what the hell it has to do with Hook?"

"The 'who' would be my niece, Tempest," Ursula stated. "Ever since Father allowed her to start testing her powers, she's been out of control."

"Didn't know you had a niece." Regina wondered how many other little demi-gods might be running around out there.

"The family history is a bit muddled, but suffice it to say she's my sister's kid – born with the ability to control the winds. She loves to toy with ships out on the open seas, blowing up rogue storms and endangering a whole lot of human lives. My father doesn't seem bothered by her actions, but then you know his opinion on humans, considering he once used my voice to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. It really didn't come as a surprise."

"Okay, so your niece likes to make it really windy and endanger ships," Regina said snidely. "Can we skip to the part that involves Hook?"

"I wasn't aware that Tempest had ventured into the Land Without Magic until recently," Ursula began. "I'd just rescued a young mermaid who'd managed to get herself ensnared in a fishing net when I spotted a cloaked vessel, the Jolly Roger, anchored off an island south of here. I went aboard in search of her Captain but all I found on deck was a frayed rope, a damaged sail and in the Captain's quarters, a shiny steel hook. It didn't take much to put two and two together and figure that Tempest was involved so I went looking for him."

"You said the ship was already anchored so what made you think your niece was involved?"

"The damaged sail was a pretty good indication," Ursula responded. "I figured he anchored near the closest harbor and took the rowboat to shore. Maybe the dinghy got upended before he reached land or he got blown further offshore than he expected and he ended up in the water. Either way, a tracking spell led me to the pirate and I pulled him out of the water. Simple as that."

"Except for that bleeding out complication," Regina reminded her. "Well, at least now it makes more sense how he managed to sail so far south that quickly."

"So, where's the pirate now?" the Sea Witch asked.

"He's still hospitalized in Portland," Regina explained. "By the sound of it, he'll be there at least a few more days since Emma can't exactly magically heal his injuries outside of Storybrooke. She's also working with the local authorities trying to find and capture the men who attacked him."

"Sounds like our dear Captain had quite the eventful day," Ursula mused as she stood, her expression almost apologetic when faced with the revelation of what she'd overlooked. She'd hardly consider Captain Hook to be a friend, but they'd mended their terse past so she didn't count him among her enemies any longer either. She'd no obligation to search for the pirate or to rescue him before he drowned, but she'd felt it was the right thing to do. Damned heroes had gotten under her skin too but how had she not noticed he was bleeding? He couldn't have been in the water long though or he would have had predators all over him. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You may want to talk to Emma about that," Regina suggested. "She probably isn't going anywhere for a few more days."

"Is there a way to magically repair the Jolly Roger so we can bring her back to Storybrooke?" Henry jumped into the conversation with his question after listening silently for long enough. "Killian won't be able to finish the sail repair easily with his injuries and even if Mom brings him back home first to heal him, they'd still have to find a way back out to the ship without being noticed. And how long does a cloaking spell work anyway? What if someone discovers the ship?"

"Slow down, young man," Ursula replied. "I believe I can be of assistance there, but I'd like to speak to your mother, the sheriff, first. Can you relay a message to her that I'll meet her tomorrow in Portland at the harbor front park? I'll be there at sunset."

"I'll let her know right now," Henry stated, digging his cell phone from his interior jacket pocket. "She'll be happy to meet with you."

"For some reason, I doubt that," Ursula replied with a sigh. If this feeling of regret was what heroes had to go through all the time, she'd much rather be a villain.

 _Thursday morning, Portland Medical Center_

The first thing Emma recalled hearing that morning was an ear-piercing screech followed by a muttering of curse words. Raising her head from the pillow, she brushed a curtain of unruly blonde locks away from her face so she could get a better view of what was occurring just a few feet away from her. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could make out her husband standing next to the bed, fully clothed save for his socks and boots, although she could see that one of those black leather boots was clutched in his hand. The other half of the pair had apparently fallen onto the floor, ending up beneath the nightstand and as she put the pieces together, she realized that the screeching sound that awakened her had come from his attempt to move said stand to retrieve his footwear himself. His pursuit of stealth had failed miserably and now he knew he had his wife staring at him wondering what the hell he was doing.

"Killian?" she asked, still groggy with sleep as she tried to figure out why her husband would have put on jeans and why he was standing before her with his boot gripped in his hand. "What's going on? And why are you dressed?"

"Apologies, Love. I didn't mean to wake you," he replied with a sheepish grin, well aware that as soon as she was completely awake and alert, his actions would be abundantly clear. He lowered himself back down atop the bed with a defeated sigh, placing the boot beside him, next to his navy blue woolen socks. Emma shifted on the cot, pushing herself upright as she shrugged off the drowsiness, a frown scrunching her features.

"I can tell you weren't planning to wake me," she began as she figured out what he was up to. "Just where were you planning on going?"

"You and the two local officers, you're intending to locate and possibly question the Toliver brothers who accosted me and I intend to go with you."

Now she was definitely awake.

"Killian, you haven't been given the okay to be discharged yet. We were told maybe tomorrow…"

"I have spent more than enough time sequestered in this little room. I'm perfectly fine. A little sore perhaps, but well enough to accompany you today and then preferably return home by tomorrow if we're able to apprehend Mr. Donleavy and his accomplices."

"So, you just decided to wake up, get dressed and assume that I'd agree to all of this when I woke up?"

"Perhaps," he responded with a shrug. "I would have already completed the task of getting myself dressed had I not dropped my boot while reaching for my socks. I didn't expect that this metal cabinet to make such a horrendous noise when I tried to move it aside."

"That's what you get for trying to be sneaky," she scolded him, scowling as she stood up, took two steps over to the nightstand and dropped to a knee next to the cabinet. "We could have discussed this together."

"Ah, yes," he rebutted. "Just as we're 'discussing' it now. Clearly, you disagree with my decision, but it is still _my_ decision and I wish to leave this place today so I can assist in the apprehension of my attackers. If our positions were reversed, you'd be asking for the same courtesy."

Emma remained silent as she reached beneath the nightstand and grasped his boot, using the cabinet to help balance as she pushed herself back to her feet. She handed the boot to her slightly irritated husband who tossed the pair to the foot of the bed in disgust. He shifted his weight back against the pillows once again, angry that his wife wouldn't listen to his argument. This was clearly where he was expected to stay for at least another day so he might as well try to get comfortable. Emma's demeanor softened as she recognized the dejected cast to his gaze.

"You really want out of there that badly?" she asked as she plunked her backside onto the bed next to him, her eyes locked on the floor as she wasn't yet ready to meet his.

"Aye," was his only response.

"Okay," she relented, lifting her gaze to the ceiling while shaking her head in disbelief that she was agreeing to this. "We'll tell the doctor that we've made arrangements with Whale to take over your treatment back home where we have family and friends to help us out. I'm sure Whale will agree to go along with it with the right persuasion. And you can go with me today on one condition – you stay in the car. No matter whose car we use, you stay put. I can't concentrate on the investigation if I have to keep an eye on you too."

"I can take care of myself," he assured her.

"Oh, I can see that. It's how you ended up here in the first place, but I'm not questioning why you did the things you did. You were doing exactly what any hero would do. So, you stay in the car. No arguments. Until I can get you across the town line and healed, I don't want you over-exerting yourself. Your lungs are still compromised from nearly drowning and you do have a hole through your chest."

"Agreed," he responded without hesitation.

"Alright then, let me get dressed and we'll go track down a nurse to explain your decision. They're probably not going to be too happy with it…"

"Likely not," Killian replied with a smirk.

"Almost certainly not," Emma sighed, now noticing the blinking light on her cell phone resting atop the same nightstand that had started all of this. She lifted the phone to see what messages she'd received. "There's a text here from Regina," she explained. "Came in some time last night. Wonder why I didn't see it… Anyway, she was able to summon Ursula and the Sea Witch wants to meet with me – well, us I guess, at the harbor park at sunset. I guess she's going to help us get the Jolly Roger back to Storybrooke."

"I'd prefer to sail her back myself, but I'll gladly accept her assistance at this time."

"Sounds like a good idea. Now, I'm going to take a quick shower and try to figure out how to convince hospital staff that you're making the right decision…"


	16. Chapter 15

_I want to first extend a quick, sincere apology to anyone who has been following this story. Getting this chapter to come together proved to be a bigger challenge than I'd expected as I needed to keep this somewhat believable, but not get too bogged down in procedurals. This obviously is not expected to be a true-crime drama, but I had to toe the line on keeping it realistic enough to balance the fairy tale aspects as well. (And there are definitely more of those coming!) In this chapter, I've set up the investigation into the Toliver brothers as Emma, McCallen and Haviland work to tie them to Donleavy._

 _Thursday morning, Downtown Portland_

Earlier that morning, McCallen messaged the address of Leviant Construction's nearly-completed office tower in central Portland and Emma had agreed to meet both the deputy and Sergeant Haviland at that site at 11am, hoping to interview the younger of the unsuspecting Toliver brothers before the crew broke for lunch. She parked the Bug across the street from the contractor's entrance on a corner perpendicular to the guarded opening in the fence. She'd spotted McCallen's unmarked sedan just around the corner, partially shielded from view by a food truck positioned in front of the construction site that was clearly preparing for a busy lunch crowd.

"Stay here," Emma reminded her newly-sprung husband. "I'll be right back. I'm just going to go check in with McCallen but I don't see Haviland around anywhere yet."

"I'll be waiting right here, Love," he assured her but his voice dripped with sarcasm as he shifted around in the tight confines of yellow bug trying to make himself comfortable.

"I'll leave my phone here," she continued, ignoring the undertone of his statement as she pointed to the clutter-filled opening in the vehicle's dashboard where she'd tucked her cell phone to charge. "If you need anything, just call McCallen's number." Killian nodded in agreement but it was obvious that his attention was elsewhere. His blue eyes were intently focused on the chain-link fencing opposite him as he sought out any glimpse of his attackers.

Emma walked briskly over to McCallen's parked vehicle, regretting her decision not to grab her heavier leather jacket from the back seat as she wrapped her sweater clad arms around her chilled torso. She rapped lightly on the passenger side window to get the deputy's attention and McCallen immediately gestured for her to climb inside. She yanked the door open and flopped into the seat while craning her neck to glance back at the Bug, unsure whether her husband would keep his promise to stay put.

"Sgt. Haviland is running a few minutes late," McCallen informed her as she pulled the door closed. "I saw one of the Tolivers, Jackson, walk past the gate earlier but no sign yet of the younger brother or of Mr. Donleavy."

"The younger brother is probably here too and since they'll likely be breaking for lunch soon, we're going to need to get over there soon to question him," Emma stated.

"Agreed, and then we can hope that he runs to his accomplices during his lunch hour."

"We should decide now how we want to play this," Emma began. "We need to come up with a reasonable excuse to question Benjamin Toliver…"

"When I spoke to Sgt. Haviland earlier this morning, he suggested that you and I be the ones to approach and question Mr. Toliver. Maybe we could use something like DNA being recovered at the crime scene? You know - like spit or something? Maybe this guy will be clueless about things like that?" McCallen's thoughts brought a crooked smile to Emma's lips but she wasn't keen on a fake DNA evidence ploy.

"Interesting idea, but maybe we should go with something simpler like an anonymous witness account?" she suggested. "We do have a witness who can place Toliver there so it's not entirely a stretch. They just don't know that he survived."

"Think it would be enough to send him running to his cohorts?"

"We just need to plant a little seed of doubt in Toliver's head and hopefully, he'll do exactly what we want."

"You think so?" McCallen wondered, his own investigative inexperience prompting some probably unfounded doubt in his mind.

"Yeah, I do," she replied with a broad grin as she took another glance back toward her own car.

"Sheriff, is there something wrong?" a confused McCallen finally asked after watching her turning to look at her yellow Volkswagen twice now. He found himself slightly unnerved at her bizarre behavior. What did she keep staring at behind them?

"Sorry, I'm just trying to keep an eye on my husband so that he keeps his promise…"

"Your husband?" The deputy's bewildered face made her chuckle as she immediately realized she hadn't informed anyone that Killian had checked himself out. "Isn't he still in the hospital?"

"No," she replied with a slight grin despite the irritated tone of her voice. "He's sitting in the car. He insisted on checking himself out of the hospital this morning against medical advice so he was told he would have to wait in the car."

"I see…," McCallen responded without offering further commentary. It certainly wasn't his place to judge the man's decisions and clearly, it didn't seem as though Emma agreed with it.

"Well, I'd better head back to the Bug and keep Killian company until Haviland shows up."

"Okay, I'll call you if anything changes but if not, we can all get together when he arrives and put something into action."

* * *

Haviland eased his sedan up to the curb behind Emma's Volkswagen approximately twenty minutes later. He may not have known the vehicle, but he recognized its blonde-haired driver and was slightly taken aback by the unexpected figure occupying the passenger seat. Was that actually her husband seated next to Sheriff Jones? What was he doing out here this morning?

The police sergeant took a quick glance around the busy downtown neighborhood as he turned off the engine wanting to ensure they weren't drawing any undue attention. Once he was confident that no one from the nearly completed but still fenced off construction site was paying any mind to vehicles parked across the street, Haviland exited his vehicle and strolled around to the passenger side of Emma's Bug then raised his hand to rap on the window but the pirate was already a step ahead. Killian found the handle on the inside of the door and rolled down the window while Emma's grin widened at Haviland's somewhat confounded expression at seeing her passenger.

"Mr. Jones? This is certainly a surprise…" Haviland greeted the unplanned fourth member of their investigative team.

"My apologies if I confused you with my presence this morning," Killian replied, "but I'd simply reached my wit's end with the confines of that hospital room and also felt I could be of greater assistance here."

"He's under orders to remain in the car though," Emma clarified so Haviland would be aware of the terms of their agreement. "Anyway, McCallen and I chatted a bit earlier and we're ready to go track down Benjamin Toliver and question him. Do we have any radios or anything to communicate back to you?"

"We'll have to improvise there," Haviland told her. "Why don't you dial my phone and leave the line open? I can mute it on my end so there won't be any sound feeding back to your end. It might be a little muffled from your pocket, but I should be able to make out enough of the conversation to proceed once you're done with the interview."

"Sounds good to me," Emma agreed as an eager smile stretched across her face. "I'll go get McCallen and we'll get this party started."

"If it's alright with you, Sheriff, I'd like to have your husband here join me in my vehicle," Haviland requested. "I've got binoculars so we can keep a closer watch on the site and I would like him to hear this conversation too – especially to confirm the voice and any details Toliver might accidentally reveal. Maybe we'll even get lucky and pick up some voices in the background to help identify Toliver's accomplice since the older brother is only tentatively suspected at this point."

"Sounds good," Emma replied as she pushed open the driver's door and stepped out into the street amidst a break in traffic. "Let's go find Mr. Toliver and see what he has to say…"

* * *

A few minutes before noon, Emma and McCallen strode up to the guard shack at the construction site entrance. McCallen, in plain clothes today instead of his uniform, had his Deputy badge already in hand as they approached, surprisingly confident despite his lack of investigative experience. Emma remained a step behind the local deputy, pulling her leather jacket tighter around her chest and shoving her hands into her pockets as she found herself once again shivering against the chill of this dreary, overcast day. Her badge was clipped to the waistband of her jeans but she was fully prepared to offer her own credentials for closer scrutiny if asked. She was perfectly content with allowing McCallen to take the lead for now.

"Good morning," McCallen greeted the guard seated inside the tiny booth, extending his right hand which clutched his badge toward the young man who was bundled up in a heavy parka as the booth he occupied offered little protection from the elements. "I'm Deputy McCallen with the Cumberland County Sheriff's department. My associate and I are looking for one of the employees of Leviant Construction, a Mr. Benjamin Toliver. We need to ask him some questions and would like to know if he would be working today so we could talk with him for a few minutes?"

"Yeah, the guard replied," he's working today. Let me radio his foreman and see if he can round him up."

"Thank you," McCallen responded with a polite smile. "We'd really like to just get all of this done here today and not have to make him come into the station."

"Sure… I get it. You can wait for him in that trailer just to the right," the guard stated, pointing his index finger in the direction of a small, somewhat rusty single-wide trailer positioned just on the other side of the chain link fence. "Contractor isn't here today so you can use his office. Can't let you anywhere else on the site though without proper safety protocols."

"The trailer will be more than sufficient," McCallen assured the young man. "Appreciate it."

"Let me get the gate opened," the guard said as he pressed a button on the electronic panel in front of him which opened the rolling gate and allowed the two law enforcement officers entry. "Trailer should be unlocked. I opened it up earlier today for a meeting but I know they're all done."

"Thanks," Emma said with a little nod of her head before following McCallen through the now opened gate and up the three metal grated steps to enter the less than spacious trailer, finding that the interior was as spartan as the exterior. The space was furnished simply with a single industrial grey metal desk and faded black vinyl office chair that was scuffed and peeling. Two four drawer filing cabinets lined the wall to the left of the desk and three metal folding chairs leaned against the cabinet closest to them. An older space heater was positioned in the center of the floor but it wasn't turned on.

"Cozy," Emma stated sarcastically as she pulled the trailer's door closed behind them. "Quite certain this isn't any office Donleavy would use. No way someone like him would use a dump like this…"

"Who do you think it belongs to?" McCallen queried as he took up the task of setting up two of the folding chairs, unsure of how long they might be waiting while somebody tracked down Toliver. He had no intention of standing the whole time.

"Probably doesn't belong to anyone," Emma replied as she decided to do a bit of snooping. "I assume it's used by the contractor and the foreman for meetings and the like." She tried to tug open the file drawers but found them all locked so she turned her attention to the desk but to her disappointment, found it contained only basic office supplies. Nothing here was likely to give them any clues about Donleavy and his business.

She'd just closed the top drawer of the desk when the trailer door flung open and a young sandy haired man entered. The face matched the photographs they had of Benjamin Toliver but in person, he had a slighter build than Emma had pictured. It was no wonder that Killian had been easily able to intimidate the smaller of his captors and she really couldn't picture the man before her as a construction worker. It seemed an odd career choice for the scrawny figure she was eyeing right now. Perhaps Benjamin Toliver's place here had more to do with older brother, Jackson, than they'd initially suspected.

"Um… Hi…," the young man stammered. "I'm Ben Toliver. I was told that somebody had some questions for me?" Emma could already spot the stress signs indicating how nervous he was. Despite the obvious chill in the air, Toliver was sweating and it didn't appear to be from manual exertion. He was blinking far more than would be normal in these light conditions. He was tightly wound and evidently very anxious - and that trait was precisely what Emma hoped to exploit.

"Mr. Toliver, why don't you please have a seat?" McCallen suggested, although it was really more of a veiled order as he made a gesture toward one of the folding chairs he'd placed opposite the desk. "I'm Deputy McCallen from the Cumberland County Sheriff's department and this is my associate, Sheriff Jones from one of our sister counties. We'd like to ask you a few questions today to see if you can help us out with a joint case we've been investigating. You're not under any obligation to talk to us today and we'd really prefer to keep this casual, but if you prefer, we could have you come back to the station where you could have an attorney present if you want." McCallen knew they were treading on tenuous legal ground here and wanted to proceed cautiously but he was afraid that a full Miranda warning would keep Toliver from talking.

"Uh, okay?" Toliver was hesitant to reply. "What would I need an attorney for? Don't really know what I could help with…"

"Were just trying to get some help investigating a local robbery and a missing person's case that appear to be connected," Emma explained, taking a seat atop the desk in front of Toliver, intentionally using the height difference to intimidate. "We have a few leads that seem to place you near the scene of the robbery so we thought we would find out what you might know."

"Robbery?" Toliver repeated nervously, shifting on the metal chair enough to make it squeak in protest. "What about a robbery? I've been here all morning…"

"Oh, this wasn't from today," Emma stated. "The robbery in question took place Sunday afternoon – right around this same time of day. Could you please tell us where you were Sunday between say 12 and 3?"

"Um…, probably at home. Didn't really go anywhere Sunday," Toliver lied, his left eye twitching almost imperceptibly as he made his statement.

"You're sure you didn't go anywhere?" she asked again. "I ask because we have a witness who places you at the harbor near the ferry terminal that day. You didn't go to the harbor? Maybe out on a boat with friends?"

"Uh…, no ma'am," the suspect fibbed yet again. "Haven't been out to the harbor in a while… I was working a lot of overtime last week so I was probably sleeping. Must have been somebody else they saw…"

"Any idea why someone might want to implicate you and tell us you were down there at the harbor?" McCallen inquired.

"Not really… If I wasn't sleeping, I was probably just hanging with my brother," Toliver stated and Emma noticed there was no twitch this time, indicating he was telling them at least a partial truth. He had been with his brother but wasn't being truthful about where they'd been _hanging_. It was so obvious that she didn't even need to rely on her superpower to figure this one out.

"Well, we were hoping you might have seen something that would have helped us," Emma said. "A man from my town was apparently taken hostage during that robbery which took at a shop on the harbor and now he's gone missing."

"Sorry, Sheriff," Toliver said with a shake of his head. "Wish I could help you, but whoever said they saw me down there was wrong."

"Well, sorry to bother you, Mr. Toliver," McCallen stated. "Appreciate you taking the time to talk to us though." He waited as Toliver stood, then escorted their suspect to the trailer door knowing that Sgt. Haviland who was watching and listening from across the street would take over surveillance from here.

"Yeah, sure… Happy to help," Toliver replied. "If that was all you needed, I've gotta get back to work…"

"Yes, that's all we needed," Emma replied, thinking to herself _for now_. "Thank you for your time." _We'll be talking to you again soon, you little bastard…_

Emma and McCallen waited until Toliver was well out of earshot to withdraw her phone from the right-hand pocket of her jacket and unmute it to check in with Killian and Sgt. Haviland.

"Did you guys get all of that?" she asked, hoping they'd been able to hear the conversation well enough when the phone was tucked away in her jacket pocket.

"Most of it," Haviland replied. "Your husband did confirm both the identity of the man who entered the trailer as well as the voice. Toliver is definitely involved so now we just have to identify his accomplices."

"Oh, I'm quite sure he was with his brother," Emma stated. "It's the one thing he didn't lie to us about."

"You're quite confident of that," Haviland responded, not yet as convinced as Emma may have been.

"Trust me, Mate," Killian insisted. "I assure you – she knows when someone's lying to her."

"I'll have to take your word for it then," Haviland stated. "Now, how about you and McCallen get back out here so I can take over when they break for lunch?"


	17. Chapter 16

_It has taken me a while to get this chapter to come together and it ran a lot longer than I was expecting but I wanted these two scenes to be paired together to contrast the non-magical aspects of this story with the more fantastical interactions with Ursula. Enjoy a little bit of slightly domestic fluff before the detective work steps up._

* * *

 _Thursday afternoon, Portland, ME suburbs_

The rest of Emma and Killian's afternoon hadn't been at all exciting. She and Deputy McCallen had spoken briefly to Sgt. Haviland before they'd spied the Toliver brothers exiting the construction site in a rusting pale blue Honda, Jackson Toliver behind the wheel. Haviland pulled out to follow their car leaving Emma to the task of locating a place to stay for the next few nights. She'd asked McCallen in hopes of getting a couple of decent suggestions but the deputy caught her entirely off guard when he offered them use of the spare bedroom in the suburban house he shared with his parents. He'd explained that his parents were snowbirds, spending the winter in Florida, so the house was quiet for at least another week. He knew they'd never hesitate to offer hospitality to fellow law enforcement and while McCallen didn't say it out loud, Emma figured the deputy appreciated the company as well.

However unexpected, it ended up being a perfect arrangement. The house was located south of downtown Portland, only an approximate fifteen minute drive from the Leviant Construction site but by the time they arrived, it took all of Killian's remaining strength to climb the six flagstone steps up the embankment to the front door of the white clapboard Colonial style home. Killian couldn't have been more thankful to learn that the spare bedroom was located on the first floor because at that moment, he couldn't have willed his aching body to ascend another flight of stairs if his very life depended on it.

McCallen directed them to the bedroom, positioned off of the dining room and furnished with a queen-size four poster bed that matched perfectly to the quaint New England décor. On the way, he pointed out the location of the downstairs bathroom beneath the staircase, offering a warning to watch their heads when standing up as the sloping ceiling above the tub was a little low. He also offered use of the upstairs bath as well if they preferred a larger, more modern tub and shower, not that Emma or Killian was concerned. She didn't care if she took a soak or a shower as long as the water was hot.

Killian had quickly drifted off to sleep once settled into the guest bedroom but first, Emma had been meticulous in following the checklist that Jackie had provided before the hospital would discharge him. She'd made sure that her husband took his medications which included antibiotics to clear up any remaining traces of infection and a non-opioid pain reliever. Killian had been insistent on the latter, stating that the narcotics made him too sleepy and he needed to keep his wits about him until his assailants were behind bars. Emma was certain that he was physically more exhausted than he'd expected to be but she also knew how determined he'd been to leave the confines of the hospital. As far as Killian was concerned, all he needed was some rest and he'd be perfectly fine to accompany Emma to the harbor park that evening when she met with the Sea Witch.

One thing Jackie had insisted upon was for Killian to stick to simple, soft foods and liquids for another day or two until his system was ready which was driving Emma crazy. Now, she was suddenly craving a huge, greasy cheeseburger and a pile of golden fried onion rings. For Killian's sake, she knew she'd have to suffer for a while, but it wasn't making her enjoy any of it. Thankfully, McCallen had graciously offered to pick up some food for all of them so that an obviously equally exhausted Emma could join Killian for a nap. She'd initially declined, but once she realized that she'd probably gotten less sleep than her recuperating husband over the past week, she changed her mind and joined Killian.

She knew some amount of time had passed but she wasn't really sure how much and honestly, Emma didn't really care as she tugged the down comforter tighter around her shoulders until a cheery "Afternoon, Love," sounding in her ear stirred her awake. She mumbled something unintelligible as her eyes came open, squinting as she tried to focus on the glowing red digital numbers of the clock resting on the night stand before her. She was alert in an instant as she realized it was nearly 4pm, throwing off the covers and bolting upright as Killian chuckled behind her. "Thought you were going to sleep away the afternoon."

She didn't need to see the broad, smug grin plastered across his face because she could hear it quite clearly in his voice. "Very funny," she chided as she stretched and rolled onto her left side so she'd be face to face with her husband. "How long have you been laying there watching me sleep?"

"Not long. Half, perhaps three quarters of an hour," he responded. "Long enough to converse with Deputy McCallen about working through our expected, shall we say _physical_ shortcomings." He raised his scarred, stumped wrist as a visual aid to the precise shortcoming he was referring to when his wife smirked and practically snorted at his word choice, an act to which he immediately took offense. "I was speaking, of course, of my hand, Swan. Is there some other _physical shortcoming_ that we should discuss?"

"God, no," she assured him as she leaned toward him until she met his frowning lips with hers, remembering how wonderful it was to have a room with some semblance of privacy again instead of a huge glass wall everyone could stare through. Her hand lifted to caress his cheek, fingers tracing across his overgrown stubble and threading through his unkempt dark hair, sighing into his kiss as she relished this brief moment of intimacy. She'd missed this closeness, this touch but had to pull back when her primal instincts urged her to toss him onto his back and throw herself atop him. Instead, she backed away leaving him flushed and flustered.

"What's wrong?" he implored as she rolled back to her right and forced herself out of the bed.

"Sorry, I just couldn't let myself get too carried away," she replied with her back still turned to him. "You're still hurt and until we get back to Storybrooke where I can heal all of your remaining injuries, I don't want to cause you any more pain…"

"Emma, Love, you don't have to worry about me…" he started to say but she cut him off right there.

"That's all I've done all week – worry about you! I worried about where you were when you didn't come home. I worried if you were going to survive when you didn't regain consciousness right away and yeah, I worry that you're going to get hurt again! I nearly lost you, Killian… I know this wasn't your fault, but what if those fishermen hadn't found you? Ursula left you on that beach without even realizing you were bleeding to death… You might have died here in Portland as a damned John Doe – a random, unknown person and we'd have never…"

This time, he interrupted her statement. "But I didn't, Swan. I'm here. I'm alive and I'm determined to capture every one of those bloody bastards who attacked me!"

"Okay, I get it," she sighed, knowing she needed to snap out of this funk before it dragged her mood too far down, choosing to change the subject instead. "C'mon, let's go grab something to eat. I'm starving and I'm curious what McCallen brought…"

"Lots of sandwiches and soup," Killian replied as he rolled out of the bed and then waited for his wife to join him at the door, allowing her to step out into the narrow hallway first. As promised, when they reached the kitchen, McCallen had set out a variety of sandwiches, several to go containers of different soups and even a stack of paper plates, bowls and plastic utensils.

"Wow, McCallen really outdid himself here," Emma gushed, surprised to find so many choices.

"I really wasn't sure what you might like so I got a little of everything," the deputy responded to her statement as he came around the corner from what he'd referred to as the family room.

"You sure did," Emma laughed as she perused the options. "Thank you so much!"

"You're my guests," McCallen stated. "It's the least I could do…"

"We certainly appreciate the hospitality, Mate," Killian insisted as he lowered his weary frame onto one of the wooden kitchen chairs, his chest already aching from walking just the short distance from the guest room to the huge kitchen. While he fully intended to accompany his wife that evening, he was realizing that he may have underestimated his own physical limitations. He had to remind himself that he had been stabbed and nearly drowned. There was tissue and muscle damage which had scarcely had four days to heal and those nagging wounds were screaming at him to take it easy.

"So, have we heard anything more from Haviland?" Emma asked as she took a seat at the table next to Killian, side-eying her husband who was quite obviously attempting to disguise the pain he was in. As much as she wanted to scold him for pushing himself too hard, she understood – he needed to be a part of this.

"Got a couple of brief messages from him earlier. He followed the Tolivers to a coffee shop about a block and a half away from the construction site. He kept his distance but described the exchange as _intense._ "

"Any sign of Donleavy?" Killian asked.

"Sgt. Haviland didn't mention seeing him, but it's unlikely that he goes out to the site every day," McCallen answered. "It's gonna take a little more finesse to capture Donleavy because even if we paraded you out there as a witness, it's your word against his. There's no physical evidence to tie him to the attack."

Emma smiled proudly at McCallen's statement as it reflected on the growth he'd made as an investigator over the past few days. "Agreed. Our best approach is going to be to put pressure on the Toliver brothers to get them to implicate Donleavy. Until then, we probably don't even have enough to get a warrant to search Donleavy's boat for evidence…"

"Hang on," McCallen interrupted her thought as his phone buzzed with a new notification. "I just got a new message from Haviland… He's speaking to the District Attorney right now looking into warrants for the Toliver brothers' phone records."

"Hope we have enough to get a judge to sign off on it," Emma said. She'd known cases like this to fall apart if a judge didn't agree there was enough to justify a warrant.

"Guess we'll know soon," McCallen replied. "I know you mentioned that you were meeting a friend tonight so I'll text you if I learn anything while you're gone."

"Yeah, she's meeting us at sunset at the harbor front park," Emma recalled. "What time is sunset anyway? 6:30? 6:45? She could have been a bit more specific…"

"We'll just get there early and wait for her," Killian suggested.

"That's probably a good idea since it might take you half an hour to walk across the parking lot," Emma joked, flashing a huge grin at her husband's annoyed visage.

"Oh!" McCallen chimed in as a proverbial light bulb went off in his head. "I almost forgot… I have something for you…" Killian stared quizzically at the young deputy as he ducked out of the kitchen, returning seconds later with a large, brown paper bag sporting a broken Evidence seal across its folded top. "Since Cumberland County's John Doe case is officially closed as we've obviously identified you, Sheriff said it was okay to return all of this to you…"

McCallen placed the bag atop the table and slid it toward Killian whose features morphed from mock irritation over his wife's taunts to a huge smile as he realized what the slightly crumpled vessel would contain. Emma leaned forward, intercepting the paper bag as she shoved the last bite of a tuna sandwich into her mouth so she had both hands free to assist. She unrolled the top and tugged the sides apart before reaching inside, first locating the smaller plastic zip-top baggie that contained Killian's jewelry as well as the remaining contents of his pockets. Her husband's smile widened as she unsealed the baggie and dumped its contents onto the table before him. Killian didn't hesitate for a moment as he gathered up his skull and dagger pendant then slipped the chain over his head. Emma couldn't help but crack a smile herself as the charms came to rest in their familiar position against his chest. One more step towards normalcy, she thought as she watched Killian pick up each of his rings, beginning with his wedding band, place them one at a time between his teeth as he brought his hand to his mouth and pushed the correct finger through the band using a skilled motion born from centuries of practice.

Once his jewelry was back adorning his body, save for his earring which must not have been found, Emma moved on to the next item she touched in the Evidence bag – his saltwater and blood stained leather jacket. Killian eyed the garment warily, not wanting Emma to unfold it and see the narrow slit that pierced through the back where Donleavy's blade had punctured both the coal black leather and his flesh.

"Might have to see if we can work a little magic on this when we get home," Emma said knowingly as she set the jacket aside, rifling through the remaining clothing and personal items to find the most important item – Killian's leather harness and brace that held his prosthetic hand. "I think you may want this though…" While he would have preferred his hook, Killian eagerly accepted the leather contraption that had been a part of him for so long.

"Ah yes, Love," Killian mused. "It will be nice to feel whole again – at least partially so…". Killian's gaze lifted from the table to face McCallen, offering a gracious smile and a simple nod of acknowledgement. "Thank you, Deputy McCallen. 'Tis much appreciated to have my meager belongings back in my possession."

"Yes, thank you for returning all of this," Emma reiterated. "It wasn't any trouble, I hope?"

"No, not at all," McCallen insisted. "Our case was listed as officially closed and since there really wasn't anything that was going to help Sgt. Haviland's case - the sea water washed away pretty much any evidence. We didn't need to hang onto it any longer."

"Well, whoever you convinced to let us have all of this back, thanks." There was a part of her that wanted to give the deputy a huge hug right now, but since she didn't know how he might react, she dismissed the thought. "But I do see that it's almost five. Killian, we should probably check your bandages and take your meds before we leave. I'll help you into the harness and brace too."

"Aye," Killian replied, momentarily slipping back into pirate mode before remembering that McCallen didn't know that side of him. Hopefully, McCallen hadn't been paying that close of attention as he repeated the sentiment with a different choice of phrasing. "Of course, Love. My arm has been feeling rather exposed as of late." They then excused themselves to the guest room, McCallen apparently oblivious to Killian's faux pas. There was already enough to be concerned about without McCallen becoming overly curious about the abundance of pirate themes.

* * *

 _Thursday evening, Portland harbor_

Using directions provided by McCallen, Emma managed to wind her way through rush hour traffic with plenty of time to spare before sunset. The park they sought consisted of a grassy picnic area and a narrow spit of sand just south of the ferry terminal and the aging business district that Killian had inadvertently ventured into while seeking supplies to repair his damaged sail. She sensed his increasing unease as she eased the old Volkswagen into the gravel parking lot. He had obviously known where they were heading but the sight of the ferry departing port with afternoon commuters was dredging up some unpleasant memories.

"You okay?" Emma asked as the tension inside the Bug threatened to overwhelm them. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I'm fine," Killian insisted, setting his jaw in renewed determination. "Just wasn't certain how it would feel returning to this location. It isn't exactly stirring the best memories, but I assure you, Swan, I'll be fine."

"Okay then," she began as she pushed open the car door while simultaneously cutting the engine. "Not sure where Ursula plans to meet us so how about we head down to one of those benches by the boardwalk?"

"I'm quite certain the Sea Witch will find us wherever we are," he stated, and he was probably correct. Ursula did have a way of simply showing up.

"Then benches it is. I'm not letting you walk too far." She was quite adamant in that statement as she strolled around to the passenger side as he opened up his door. She extended her hand to him, offering to help him to his feet, a gesture he gladly accepted. Once he was standing, she gave the door a little kick to close it behind him as she tugged his shortened arm around her waist, letting his artificial hand rest against her hip. This way, it wouldn't appear as obvious that he was leaning on her for support, his legs still not the steadiest as he struggled to regain his usual stamina. The benches Emma had referenced were only about fifty yards away, yet his lungs were starving for oxygen by the time they reached the nearest one. He didn't want to let on that he was already questioning his decision as he allowed his weary frame to drop onto the granite bench.

Facing out to the sea, their shadows were long as the last rays of the setting sun dipped behind them. The smell of saltwater and the marine air were intoxicating to the old pirate as he stared at the dark grey clouds gathering over the horizon, instinctively knowing from many years spent at sea that a storm was brewing. And he was feeling that storm in more ways than one as being back here, so close to where his most recent ordeal had begun, inciting a feeling of both anger and frustration. All he'd attempted to do was aid a shopkeeper during a robbery and the resulting events had nearly cost him his life. And it was all over some sort of failed land grab?

"You look vexed, Captain," a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. Killian's eyes drew upward to spot the Sea Witch now standing next to him, but he'd never noticed her approach – and considering the stunned expression on his wife's face, apparently neither had Emma.

"Aye," Killian growled in reply. "'Tis been a rather vexing week."

"As much as it pains me to say this, I suppose I owe you an apology for part of that," Ursula sighed. "I made a wrong assumption and even despite our less than perfect history, I shouldn't have left you on that beach without alerting your family."

"There was no way you would have known what happened to me. You rescued me from drowning and for that, I'm grateful," Killian assured her.

"Well, there's more to this than you know…," Ursula continued. "My family may have been responsible for putting you in this mess in the first place…"

"Your family?" Emma jumped in, confused as to what Ursula and Poseidon might have to do with any of this. "I'm not sure I follow…"

"My niece, Tempest, was responsible for the rogue windstorm that blew your ship this far south and led to your broken sail. With a bit of assistance from father, your sail has been repaired and if you'd like, I'll arrange getting the Jolly Roger back to Storybrooke for you."

"Tempest?" Killian asked, well aware of the name and reputation. "The one who likes to toy with the realms' trade winds? What was she doing here in the Land Without Magic?"

"Being a typical adolescent who likes to test her boundaries," Ursula shrugged. "I'm sure we all remember those days… Anyway, she's been reprimanded and won't be allowed to venture into these waters again for a very long time."

"Good to know," Emma said, but she was still struggling with one part of this story. "I appreciate your honesty in telling us about Tempest and thank you for all you've done, but there's something I have to ask: how did you manage to find Killian in the first place? There's a whole lot of open ocean out there…"

"Well, truth is, I found the Jolly Roger first, but there was no one aboard," Ursula started her tale. "One of the sails was down which I assumed meant it was damaged. I figured Hook here had gone off in search of supplies to make repairs since the little rowboat was missing too. Figured I'd go looking for him to apologize for the problems Tempest created for him and since I am the Sea Witch, I called in some help from a few underwater friends to locate him. Eventually found him bobbing in the ocean next to a buoy so I wrapped an arm around him and tossed him up on that beach. Figured he'd wake up, drag his sorry, soggy ass to town and call you to rescue him. Emma, if I'd known he was that seriously injured, I would have come to find you…"

Emma's interactions with Ursula had been limited and very much one sided as the majority of those also involved Maleficent and Cruella during Gold's failed scheme to darken her heart. Little did she know then that the so-called Queens of Darkness would usher her forward on the awkward path to becoming the Dark One herself. She knew there was far more history between her husband and the witch and that Killian had apologized for the wrongs he'd done, allowing Ursula to reunite with her estranged father. Emma honestly never imagined they'd cross paths with the Sea Witch again and while the circumstances behind all that had happened over the past few days were still decidedly murky, Ursula had rescued Killian. He likely wouldn't be here right now if she hadn't found him after Donleavy and the Tolivers threw him overboard to drown. There were so many conflicting emotions brought on by the awkwardness of the whole situation, but despite her villainous past, Ursula's mea culpa did seem sincere - plus Emma had learned that it wasn't prudent to antagonize someone as powerful as Ursula by refusing their apology.

"I'm just glad that you – that someone – found him," Emma stated after a minute or two of quiet contemplation. She gave the Sea Witch a grateful smile, but she hoped Ursula might be able to provide just a little bit more. "I'm curious though if you might have seen something that might help us capture the men who attacked Killian. They were in a sport fishing boat and couldn't have left the area long before you arrived."

"Afraid I probably won't be of much assistance there," Ursula replied. "I stayed underwater the whole time. It's much faster traveling beneath the waves and draws less attention. I don't always pay much attention to the traffic up on the surface, especially when I've a task to complete like locating the Captain here."

"Damn…" Emma sighed. "I was hoping you might have seen something… We're grasping at every straw we can."

"Well, to not entirely dash your hopes, I do have a couple of items for the two of you," Ursula said as she shoved her right hand into the pocket of her teal green leather jacket to produce a tiny glass potion vial capped with a sliver of cork. "Regina thought you might find this useful…" she continued as she offered the vial to Emma who glanced warily at the little bottle.

"What's this?" Emma questioned, curious as to what vile substance Regina may have concocted.

"According to her majesty, its some sort of truth serum," Ursula responded with a wicked grin. "Maybe it will help you capture the deviants responsible and with this, they won't be able to lie to you."

"I'll have to figure out a way to use it since it isn't exactly legal," Emma responded, tucking the bottle into her own pocket. "Thanks though. It might come in handy."

"And this, Captain, is for you…" Ursula's left hand now slipped into the other pocket from which she retrieved a shiny, steel hook. "Found this laying on the table in your quarters and thought you might want it back."

The pirate's face lit up as he accepted his preferred artificial appendage from the Sea Witch. He might not be able to wear his hook here in Portland since it would draw too much unwanted attention but feeling the solid presence of it back in his hand finally made him feel complete for the first time in days. "Much appreciated, Love," he grinned aa he tucked the hook into the chest pocket of his own coat.

"I'll let the two of you get back to your investigation now," Ursula said as she turned back toward the sea. "If you need anything else from me, Regina knows how to reach me." With those words, she vanished into the twilight as the clouds grew thicker and more ominous overhead.

"Okay, that was really weird…" Emma mused, shaking her head at the oddity of the conversation they'd just had. Discussing rogue winds and truth serum with a maritime deity? And yet, it was just as normal to her as any she'd had with McCallen or Haviland this week. "C'mon, let's get back to the Bug before the skies open up," she said to Killian while reaching down to take ahold of his hand.

"Aye," he agreed, forcing himself to stand as Emma helped pull him upright. He'd rather have remained still for a while longer, just sitting and watching the waves roll in for hours, but he knew Emma was right – the storm would be upon them soon. He needed to move, despite the growing nausea in the pit of his stomach. "I'll try to move a tad faster for you this time, Love."

"We'll move at whatever pace you can handle," she scolded him. "This isn't a race so don't push yourself."

"Perhaps not, but it is still a challenge I need to overcome," he replied, perhaps a bit too snidely which made him instantly regret his choice of intonation.

Getting back to the parking area proved to be more strenuous than he wanted to admit as well. There was a slight incline between the boardwalk and the gravel lot that he hadn't noticed earlier and by the time they reached the old, faded yellow Volkswagen, he was completely winded, struggling just to draw in a breath. The exertion had been more than his battered body could handle and it responded angrily with a sudden, violent onslaught of coughing. He braced himself against the Bug's fender, steadying himself as his wife could only watch helplessly as his chest convulsed. Releasing her hold on him for a moment, she drew her phone from her pocket to call for help, but Killian shook his head. He knew the spasms would pass but not before he retched up the entire contents of his queasy gut. Only then did his body allow him a deep breath as he nearly collapsed onto the car, held standing only by Emma grasping his left arm as he began to faint forward.

"Are you alright?" she demanded as he sucked in several rapid gulps of air. It was a stupid question considering what she'd just witnessed, but she needed an answer from him to be sure.

"I will be," he replied in a hoarse whisper. "Perhaps I overexerted myself just a bit…"

"A bit," she reminded him as she used her sleeve to wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow. "Can you make it into the car or should I call the paramedics?" He gestured toward the car's passenger door which she yanked open before aiding him the rest of the way. "Let's get back to McCallen's place and get you into bed. You're done for the night."

And Killian was far too exhausted to argue with her order.


	18. Chapter 17

_My apologies to anyone following this story as it took me far longer than planned to get the latest chapter written and posted. I've had it mostly finished for a few weeks but with so many other things on my plate, this got postponed multiple times. I struggled a bit plotting out this chapter and the next installment as I didn't want it to come off as too much of a police procedural so this is a bit of a compromise I resigned myself to. This chapter primarily focuses on their case against Benjamin Toliver, the abductor that Killian unmasked and identified from photographs. Yes, the question of the potion Ursula gave Emma in the last chapter will be addressed and the investigation will be wrapped up soon._

* * *

 _Friday morning, Portland suburbs_

Even before the early morning sun's rays began peeking through the blinds of Aaron McCallen's guest room, Emma knew she was going to be faced with a very long day. Killian had slept for most of his first night out of the hospital, but the previous night's over-exertion had taken quite a toll on him. He'd awakened twice – once drenched in a cold sweat that had likely been the result of a nightmare he wouldn't speak of and the second time, clearly in pain, but too proud to admit it. He'd pushed himself up and out of the bed, slowly trudging his way across the hall to the bathroom as an excuse, but she knew better.

She hadn't been able to fall back asleep after the second interruption so as her husband snored softly beside her, she lay awake thinking about their next course of action. The only thing they were one hundred percent certain of was that Benjamin Toliver was the assailant Killian had unmasked before he was stabbed so he could, without a doubt, identify Toliver as one of his abductors. Big brother Jackson's involvement was inferred, but Killian had only heard his voice, having seen nothing of his second assailant's face except the eyes. Donovan Donleavy's involvement was the most questionable because Killian hadn't seen Donleavy's face until after being stabbed. A good attorney could spin that around to speculate Killian may have been hallucinating due to shock and blood loss so she knew they'd need more than Killian's shaky eyewitness account to prove their case against the supposed ringleader.

That, of course, left only one solid pursuit: put pressure on Benjamin Toliver until he cracked.

Maybe it wasn't the most ethically sound option, but the kid was still guilty of participating in an armed robbery, kidnapping and an attempted murder. He might not have been the one to thrust that blade into Killian's back, but Toliver was just as culpable and Emma already knew he was their weakest link. She was more than willing to leverage everything they had against Toliver if he'd implicate Donleavy.

Of course, taking this direction also meant that Killian would have to formally identify Toliver and that Donleavy would soon learn that the man he'd stabbed and thrown overboard was very much alive. Question was – would the well-known business man try to cover his tracks or would he simply use his wealth to flee? So much of this case was going to be hearsay unless they could get either a good confession or more solid evidence pointing to Donleavy – and that is, of course, where things got iffy. She thought about the truth serum Ursula had provided last night. Did she dare use it? It wasn't as though she'd be trying to make them do anything illegal. She just wanted them to tell the truth about the robbery and about who had hired the brothers to do it. Would it be crossing too many lines to use a little Storybrooke magic to facilitate a confession?

She'd have to contemplate that particular option very carefully because she obviously couldn't go to McCallen or Haviland for advice.

First thing first, she needed to confer with her husband to ensure he was ready to take that step. Should Killian agree, she'd then have to make arrangements with Haviland or McCallen to have Benjamin Toliver brought in for questioning and put him in a lineup. She wasn't sure which agency would hold jurisdiction here since the robbery had been Haviland's case but Killian had been stabbed out in Casco Bay which fell under Cumberland County Sheriff jurisdiction.

Well, Emma thought to herself, they can battle that one out.

 _Friday Morning, Downtown Portland_

It came as no surprise to Emma that Killian was in full agreement with her suggestion to further interrogate the younger Toliver brother and even go forward with a formal lineup if needed. Neither of their local colleagues was particularly keen with Killian giving up the safety of his current anonymity, but after Emma explained her theory, both Haviland and McCallen came around and agreed to the plan. There was no way to know for certain how this would go, but it was, at the very least, a place to start.

Sgt. John Haviland made the phone call to the Toliver residence himself, intending to keep his inquiries separate from Emma and McCallen's line of informal questioning yesterday. Haviland's approach to the investigation would now focus on the kidnapping and attempted murder but since the sergeant didn't want to tip their hand too soon, he made a voluntary request for Toliver to come to the downtown Portland headquarters. He was fully prepared to arrest Toliver if necessary, but the young man surprised him by agreeing to come on his own accord.

Benjamin Toliver arrived at the Portland Police Department headquarters at just after 11AM and was directed by the uniformed officer at reception to Sgt. Haviland's desk inside the busy squad room. While an interrogation room would have been preferable, Haviland wanted to keep a casual appearance. They were all going to tread very cautiously so as not to spoil anything.

Haviland pushed back from his almost pristine desk and stood up as he spotted Toliver entering the squad room accompanied by another uniformed officer. "Benjamin Toliver?" the sergeant asked, sounding tentative even though he already recognized the sandy haired young man after tailing him for a fair portion of the previous day. He noted Toliver's skittish behavior as he approached, his eyes flitting around the room nervously as he nodded in acknowledgment of Haviland's question, verifying that he was indeed Benjamin Toliver. "Thank you for coming down here to speak with me today. I'm glad your foreman was willing to allow you some free time to do so. I just have a few questions for you about an ongoing case of mine…"

"Uh, sure…," Toliver responded as Haviland offered him a chair beside his desk. "This about that robbery that the Sheriff was asking me about yesterday?"

"Actually, no," Haviland told him. "That's not the case this is in regard to. It's something entirely different, but before we get started, I do need to advise you of your rights…"

"Are you arresting me?" Toliver asked suspiciously.

"I just have some questions right now, but want you to be aware of your legal rights," Haviland reminded him, reciting the required speech as the younger man fidgeted on the metal chair. "It's really just a formality at this point, but it's part of the job, you understand?"

"Yeah, sure…," Toliver stammered, trying unsuccessfully to conceal the sheen of sweat forming on his skin. "Not sure how much help I can be and I hope this won't take too long…"

"Hopefully, this will be quick," Haviland stated as he dropped back into his own desk chair facing Toliver. "Now, may I ask where you were on Sunday – late morning to early afternoon- say 10AM until around 2PM?"

"Sure you weren't talking to the Sheriff's department? They asked me the same thing…"

"I'm just trying to establish a base timeline," Haviland assured him. "So, would you be able to answer that question?"

"I was with my brother all day," Toliver replied, reciting the same answer he'd given Emma and McCallen yesterday - which wasn't likely a complete lie as they had every reason to suspect that Jackson had been with him. "We didn't really do much…"

"You didn't go anywhere?"

"No, not really," Toliver lied, giving Haviland almost the identical routine he'd used the previous day. "Can I ask you what this is all about?"

"Like I said, just trying to establish a foundation here, but since you asked, you're a person of interest in an attempted murder case," Haviland stated, watching the color drain from Toliver's face as panic set in.

"What? Me?" Toliver protested. "I haven't ever tried to kill anyone!" His raised voice drew the attention of nearly everyone in the squad room.

"That's what I'm trying to determine, Mr. Toliver," Haviland replied, maintaining his casual demeanor despite his suspect's outburst. "How about we move this conversation somewhere more private?" The sergeant gestured toward a small conference room off of the open area of the squad room – a conference room already occupied by Emma who was ready with a few more queries of her own. When Toliver agreed, Haviland escorted Benjamin Toliver into that conference room where he immediately spied the blonde-haired Sheriff from yesterday. "I believe you've already been introduced to Sheriff Jones?" Haviland asked with a smirk as he steered their suspect toward the long, rectangular table in the center of the room while closing the door behind them. "Have a seat, please."

"I thought you said this wasn't about the robbery?" Toliver complained. "What's she doing here?"

"Sheriff Jones has a personal connection to the case I'm investigating, as it happens to involve someone from her town," Haviland explained as he pulled out a chair for Toliver, then strolled around to the opposite side of the table and sat down, once again facing his suspect. Emma chose to remain standing for now, her attention focused on Toliver as she awaited his responses and reactions to the questions they had prepared for step two of their plan. "Now, getting back to where we were, I want to explain that I had you come in here today because of an eyewitness account that places you at the scene of an attempted murder…"

"What?! That's crazy!" Toliver shouted, shaking his head as he continued to voice his denials.

"I have to say, the whole story is a little crazy," Haviland continued, a hint of a smirk curling a corner of his mouth as Emma handed a manila folder to her colleague. Haviland emphatically slapped the folder against the table top before flipping open the cover and lifting the top photograph from the stack of enclosed documents. "On Sunday afternoon, a couple of fishermen found an injured man unconscious on a deserted beach. This man was just a John Doe for a couple of days in the hospital, but eventually, he was identified as Killian Jones from Storybrooke, Maine – Sheriff Jones' town. Once Mr. Jones regained consciousness, he started to tell us a very interesting tale as to how he ended up on that beach…"

Haviland paused there as he turned over the photograph and slid it across the table so that it came to rest directly in front of Benjamin Toliver, prepared to gauge his reaction to the image. It was one of the many evidence photographs that Deputy McCallen had taken upon arrival at the hospital showing a comatose Killian Jones scant hours after he'd been rescued. In the photo, Killian's lips still had a faint bluish tint from cyanosis, his skin ashen from blood loss and hypothermia. Even with portions of Killian's face obscured by medical equipment, they fully expected Toliver to recognize an image of the man who had unmasked his abductor.

"Th…This guy says I tried to kill him?" Toliver stuttered, becoming increasingly agitated as his eyes remained fixated on the photograph before him.

"He did and he also worked with our sketch artist to created a composite that looks an awful lot like you," Haviland replied, cautious of his tone in case he started sounding too accusatory and Toliver suddenly demanded a lawyer. They didn't want this questioning to come to a screeching halt just yet.

Behind Haviland, Emma stepped over to a narrow counter where a metal pitcher of ice water and a stack of disposable paper cups rested. She lifted the pitcher and filled one of the cups about halfway then, careful to remain out of sight of either Haviland or Toliver, added a few droplets of Regina's potion to the water. She wanted answers right now and if this would speed things up a bit, she was willing to take the chance - especially since Toliver wasn't the person they were really after anyway. If a little touch of magic would lead them to the truth faster, she was prepared to skirt that line.

"Here…," Emma began as she spun around, water cup in hand. "Have a drink of water and just relax a little." She offered the cup to Toliver who almost greedily accepted with his trembling hands. "As I'm sure Sgt. Haviland here has already told you, we're just trying to piece some things together." Toliver's nerves were already getting the best of him and despite his lies, his body language made it clear that he recognized the face in the photograph. Emma tried hard not to grin as the young man took a tentative sip from the cup, then proceeded to finish the rest in a single gulp.

Toliver was already beginning to crack and Emma had no qualms about helping to widen those fissures.

"So, you keep staring at that photograph," Haviland commented. "You recognize him?"

"Uh… Not really," Toliver stammered once again, but then added: "Might have seen him around somewhere…"

"Somewhere?" Emma prodded. "Mr. Jones is a bit of a mariner. Maybe you saw him around the harbor?"

"Don't get to the harbor much," Toliver responded, shaking his head anxiously. "Not really fond of boats…"

"You've been out on a boat?" Emma continued her query with a side-eyed glance toward Haviland whose face registered a bit of trepidation over her line of questioning – until Toliver's next answer stunned them both.

"I was out on a fishing boat last Sunday…," Toliver announced before even realizing what had rolled off of his tongue. Haviland immediately straightened and slid forward in his chair with eager anticipation. "Oh, damn…" Toliver sighed as his rash statement had time to sink in.

"You were out on a fishing boat on Sunday?" Haviland repeated Toliver's words back to him for clarification. "Thought you said you were with your brother all day Sunday?"

"I don't know why the hell I said that," Toliver replied, his left leg now bouncing nervously beneath the table. "We weren't fishing or anything. We were just supposed to use the boat to take the lady out into the bay…"

"The lady?" Haviland was stumped as Toliver's statements were starting to get interesting. "What lady? And why were you taking some lady out into Casco Bay?"

"The lady from the store out by the ferry terminal. I don't know her name…" Toliver continued to spew facts. "I was just hired to do it…"

Haviland had to take another brief pause to piece Toliver's fractured statements together. "You were hired to take the store owner out into Casco Bay in a fishing boat?" Toliver might not have been making a lot of sense but the little blurbs he kept expelling were gradually proving their theories.

"Yeah, we were," Toliver confirmed, the confession leading Haviland to shake his head in disbelief. The hastily thrown-together plan to try and elicit a confession had actually worked. "I really need to call my brother though. Think I could call him now?"

"Sure," Haviland replied. "Why don't you see if he can come down and join us so we can get some more clarification?"

"Okay," Toliver said timidly. "I think he's going to be a little pissed at me…"

"Yeah, he might be, but all we're really trying to do is get to the truth about what happened to Mr. Jones," Haviland reminded him. "Let's have your brother join us and we'll see how that goes…" The few details Benjamin had provided had tied up a few of the loose ends but Haviland wasn't going to be too quick to curse their good luck. There was still much to learn and hopefully, even more would be revealed once both brothers were present.


	19. Chapter 18

_With so much going on recently, I finally managed to squeeze in some time to update this story which is nearing completion. We left off with Emma and Sgt. Haviland questioning Benjamin Toliver and Emma made the decision to use the truth potion Ursula had provided. Will big brother Jackson try to bail out his younger sibling or will he crack too? (Note: this chapter takes some broad artistic license with police procedures to progress the story.)_

 _Friday afternoon, Downtown Portland_

To say that Jackson Toliver was pissed off would have been a vast understatement. Not knowing what his younger brother might have already divulged to the cops, he stormed into the Portland Police Department's downtown headquarters hoping to do a little damage control. The uniformed reception desk officer, the same who had escorted Benjamin Toliver to Sergeant Haviland's desk earlier that morning, now brought the elder sibling to speak with the sergeant.

"Mr. Toliver?" Haviland greeted the older brother of the young man who was still seated inside the conference room on the opposite side of the wide open bullpen area. Recognizing the face from both the photographs he'd seen as well as from his own surveillance, he could see some similarities between the brothers but Jackson was a good four inches taller than his brother, possessing both a deeper voice and a surly disposition. He looked pretty much like his driver's license photo save for one feature Haviland hadn't gotten close enough to notice yesterday – a deep bruise below his left eye that was just beginning to yellow around the edges. "Thank you for making the trip over here to speak with us today."

"I have a feeling I didn't really have much of a choice," Jackson Toliver growled, his demeanor decidedly different than his brother's. "Think we can make this quick? I don't really want to miss too much work."

"We'll try to keep this as brief as possible," Haviland responded. "Did your brother happen to mention why we wanted you to come down here today?"

"Benny was rambling on about having told the cops that he was hired to kidnap some woman and take her out into the bay on a fishing boat… Kid's got a pretty vivid imagination…"

"So, you're saying that your brother made everything up?" Haviland continued his questioning.

"Pretty much. I love my little brother but do you really think he looks bright enough to be hired for that type of crime?"

"That isn't really for me to determine. I'm just trying to get all of the facts straight because in addition to Benjamin's confession, he was identified by a witness." Haviland's statement seemed to catch Jackson off-guard as he hesitated before answering and at the same time, the officer saw a momentary glint of fear in Toliver's eyes right before the bravado resurfaced.

"Someone says that they saw my brother try to kidnap someone?" Toliver scoffed at Haviland's revelation of a possible witness. He might have been attempting to play this off as mere folly, but the experienced eye of the investigator picked up a few tell-tale hints – like the glistening beads of sweat suddenly visible along Toliver's forehead and upper lip. Haviland could only hope that perhaps the older brother would crack as easily as the younger one.

"According to the witness, your brother was involved in quite a bit more than attempted kidnapping. He'll likely be facing attempted robbery and attempted homicide charges as well."

This time, there was no disguising Toliver's startled face as it quickly shifted to anger. "Homicide? Benny couldn't kill a damned fly…"

"Doesn't necessarily mean he was the one physically committing the crime," Haviland explained. "Could have been a partner or someone else he was with who actually did the acts, but your brother remains just as culpable." He really wanted to make Toliver sweat some more, certain that Jackson was one of those partners and equally as guilty. He just wasn't quite ready to parade their witness out here publicly yet, so he pressed forward with another question. "Any idea where your brother was hanging out on Sunday?"

"Not really. Don't really keep that close of tabs on him. We don't exactly hang with the same crowd, if you get my meaning."

"Sure do. So then Benjamin didn't spend the day with you?"

"Is that what the kid said?" Toliver replied with a question as he shook his head, feigning ignorance. "No idea why he'd say that."

"Well, to expedite a few things here, I don't suppose you'd be willing to help us out by standing in a lineup for our witness, would you? It won't take very long but would definitely help us narrow things down." Haviland was aware that Killian had never actually seen Jackson's face, but he would certainly know the voice and the detective even suspected that the shape of that very distinct mark on Toliver's face might prove important as well. "Wow – that's quite the black eye you've got there too. Looks painful."

"Eh, it's almost healed," Toliver replied, shrugging off Haviland's comment. "I work at a construction site. Buddy of mine dropped a hammer and I got nailed with the business end of it. You know – stuff happens."

"Of course," Haviland said, almost believing that the nearly square shape to the bruise's center could have been formed by a perfectly timed strike from just the right part of a hammer, but it far more closely resembled the shape of a man's ring. "So, what do you say about the lineup? Would you submit to that for us?"

"Sure, why not?" Toliver replied with another shrug. Didn't matter to him whether he stood in a lineup or not. No one had seen his face. Not the shopkeeper, that Scott woman, for sure. The only other person who potentially could have recognized them was the British guy they'd tossed into Casco Bay and he certainly wasn't talking to anyone.

* * *

The next step in their plan was easy – gather a few plain-clothed or off-duty officers from around the station and have them flank the Toliver brothers in a semi-official lineup. Neither brother had yet been charged with a crime, nor had they requested an attorney so they had pressed on with the lineup, going through all of the motions. Each of the brothers was asked to step forward multiple times until at last, the administrator thanked everyone for their time and participation. As they filtered out of the unfurnished room utilized solely for lineups, Benjamin was swiftly escorted away by two uniformed officers so the brothers scarcely had a moment to exchange concerned glances before being separated once again.

Jackson Toliver lingered in the hallway outside the lineup room for a few minutes, contemplating what might happen next. He hadn't yet been taken into custody, which was a good thing, but having been so closely scrutinized several times during the lineup had him on edge. Someone had seen their faces, but who? Was that filthy rich bastard, Donleavy setting them up to take the fall for everything he'd done? They'd followed his instructions – well, most of them - but he'd been the one who stabbed the British guy, not them. He was the killer, they weren't.

But then Jackson's blood ran cold when he recalled Sgt. Haviland's description of the charges his brother could be facing which included attempted robbery and kidnapping and attempted homicide. _Attempted homicide_ , he repeated in his head. They hadn't really laid a finger on the Scott woman so he doubted the charge could be related to her. The only other possible person…

 _It couldn't be_ , he told himself while trying to shake off the thought. Beside him, the solid steel door to the adjacent room opened up and the sergeant he'd spoken with earlier and a blonde woman in a cream colored sweater stepped out, pulling the door closed behind them. Toliver's eyes were drawn to the blonde and he couldn't stop staring, trying hard to figure out where he'd seen her before - until he spied the Sheriff badge clipped to the waistband of her blue jeans. Oh yeah, he remembered – she was one of the two cops who had questioned Benny at the construction site yesterday.

But no one else exited that room and his mind was swirling. Was there really a supposed witness? Were they still behind that closed door? Wait – the door wasn't completely shut. He could still see a sliver of light between the door and its frame…

"Mr. Toliver?" Sgt. Haviland asked as he approached, derailing Toliver's train of thought. "You're free to go, but your brother is going to be formally arraigned and charged…"

"Wait…," Toliver interrupted. "You're telling me that this supposed witness actually recognized Benny? That's crazy…"

"We'll try to get him arraigned as soon as possible, but it will be up to the judge to decide on bond…" Haviland continued, ignoring Toliver's interruption. "If you have an attorney, you may want to call them."

"No…you've got this all wrong…," Toliver argued. "No one could have seen…" He stopped before revealing too much and incriminating himself, but he'd said enough to catch Emma's interest.

"I didn't catch that last part," she began, her attention piqued by Toliver's slip. "No one could have seen him where?"

"Nothing… Forget I said anything," Toliver backpedaled, but now he was agitated, those earlier thoughts beginning to swim around his mind again. Only two other people had been out on that boat and actually saw Benny's face… He burst forward, shoving his way past both the blonde and Sgt. Haviland, reaching for the knob of the door they'd just closed – the one that Emma conveniently hadn't latched.

"Hey! You can't go in there!" Haviland shouted as both he and Emma reached for their weapons, unsure what would transpire as the door swung open and Jackson Toliver's eyes fell upon the man he'd believed to be dead but clearly was very much alive and seated nonchalantly behind a rectangular metal table.

"No… No way…" Toliver stuttered, his face draining of color as he froze at the threshold, but he shied a step back when the ghost before him spoke.

"Nice shiner you've got there, mate," Killian stated defiantly, curling his hand into a fist with a subtle glance downward at the heavy rings he wore, the one decorating his index finger matching the shape and size of Toliver's contusion.

"You… you drowned…" Toliver stammered as he retreated into the hallway, eyes shifting nervously from side to side as the realization sunk in that his brother was doomed, and very likely, he was too. Panicking, he took a rapid, ill-advised lunge towards Emma who instinctively and defensively swung at the suspect barreling at her, her fist connecting with the unmarred side of Toliver's face and sending him crumpling to the floor. Haviland immediately subdued the barely resisting Toliver as Killian's face appeared in the doorway, letting out a hearty chuckle.

"I warned you my wife could throw a punch harder than you," Killian stated with a broad smirk crossing his lips.

This was a better result than any of them could have expected. All they needed now were the brothers' formal confessions and if all went according to plan, an implication of the person who'd hired them to seal the deal. So, as soon as Toliver was handcuffed and passed off to a waiting pair of uniformed officers who had stepped in to assist, Haviland's next step was go try to convince the Assistant District Attorney that the Tolivers would be deserving of immunity if they named the man who'd orchestrated all of this and agreed to testify. They wanted the big fish, not his hired minions.

 _Friday evening, Portland Harbor_

Killian's eyes were fixed on the horizon as he and Emma sat in her uncomfortably small yellow contraption in the same harbor front parking lot as the previous night, awaiting McCallen's arrival. The Cumberland County deputy and Sgt. Haviland we're finalizing the paperwork to process the deal they'd hashed out for the Toliver brothers. The Assistant District Attorney had given her blessing to the offer which gave the siblings full immunity from prosecution in exchange for them identifying and agreeing to testify against the mastermind of this plan to harass, kidnap and threaten Jean Scott, the failure of which had led to Killian's abduction - and near death - when his chivalrous side had instructed him to intervene.

The outcome to the week of investigating had far exceeded all of their expectations, culminating in success the moment Jackson Toliver opened his mouth. He'd described in detail how Donovan Donleavy had approached him a few weeks earlier, looking for off the books assistance with a strong-arm job. He'd wanted Toliver to frighten the shopkeeper, staging an armed robbery and then kidnapping her at gunpoint to shake the woman's resolve. They'd been instructed to take her to Donleavy's fishing boat and then to head out into the bay and leave her stranded on one of the islands, hopefully distraught and ready to sell her property. Toliver just hadn't stuck to the plan when Killian Jones complicated matters by flashing that gold coin and promising more.

Instead of Jean Scott, they'd abducted the mysterious British man who had come to her rescue. They assumed that Ms. Scott was sufficiently frightened and since they'd not gotten anything out of her till, the offer of gold was tempting to supplement what Donleavy was paying them. They just didn't know that their boss was going to be hiding out on the boat until after their supposed prisoner had gained the upper hand on Jackson and unmasked Benjamin. They'd no inkling that they'd actually kidnapped a Sheriff's Deputy (or a former pirate for that matter) at the time, but at this point in his testimony, Jackson made it quite clear that Donleavy had been the one who stabbed Killian Jones – confirming Killian's side of the story as well. The Toliver brothers had simply been following Donleavy's instructions when they'd thrown their wounded victim overboard.

Their confessions had provided enough corroborating evidence to convince a judge to sign off on a warrant to search Donleavy's boat for traces of blood. The weapon he'd used would be a lost cause as Jackson Toliver informed the prosecution that the knife had been tossed into the sea, but if traces of Killian's blood could be found aboard the boat, it would prove the veracity of the Tolivers' stories. And that was precisely the reason they were back here at the harbor, half a mile from the marina where Donleavy's boat was moored. This was about as close as Emma and Killian could get while McCallen and Haviland executed the search warrant, their participation in the joint investigation now sidelined, but they had McCallen's assurance that he would brief them both as soon as the forensic team was finished. McCallen just couldn't be certain how much later that might be so Emma and Killian were forced to wait – and impatiently at that.

Killian would have preferred to be waiting on the benches closer to the shore where he could watch the waves lapping at the sand and inhale the scent of the salty sea spray, but with his lingering weakness that inevitably led to nausea if he exerted himself too much, he didn't want to take any chances. Besides, a powerful spring storm was making its way up the coast, threatening severe thunderstorms and high winds that Emma didn't want to get caught in and she knew that the experienced mariner wouldn't argue with her logic to remain protected from the weather.

Finally, at approximately ten minutes after six, Emma's phone buzzed with a message from McCallen informing them he was on his way to the park. Emma quickly typed back their location and he responded immediately with a reply that he would meet them in ten minutes. He made no references to any findings so they could only infer that he preferred to deliver their discoveries in person so now, they just had to wait a few minutes longer.

* * *

By the time she spotted McCallen's car pulling into the parking lot, Emma was growing even more antsy than Killian. While he sat daydreaming about how much he was missing the sea, she had busied herself playing a mindless matching game on her phone, one that usually kept her entertained on stakeouts but tonight, she couldn't concentrate on the brightly colored symbols at all. She just was itching to learn if they had enough evidence to prosecute Donleavy – not just make a circumstantial case, but have actual, solid evidence to put him away for a very long time.

The impending storm was blowing in quickly, dark clouds gathering overhead as it approached, blocking what remained of the evening's sunset. Gentle sea breezes were giving way to stronger winds and rainfall was certainly imminent, but McCallen was willing to brave the weather. He parked his sedan next to Emma's Bug and climbed out into the elements, walking briskly to the driver's side as Emma rolled down the window and the deputy leaned over the yellow Volkswagen, his expression drawn into a mix of what looked like frustration and disappointment.

"So – what did the search turn up?" Emma blurted out impatiently before McCallen could even say hello.

"Nothing, I'm afraid," McCallen replied dejectedly.

"Nothing? What do you mean nothing?" she asked incredulously. "Even if they swabbed the decks or whatever the hell they do to clean a boat, there should have been some trace…"

"Emma," McCallen cut her off. "There wasn't anything found because we can't locate the damned boat!" Emma and Killian's heads both snapped up in stunned surprise.

"What?" Killian asked, one eyebrow unconsciously scrunching creases into his forehead. "Didn't the harbormaster verify that the vessel was moored there at the marina?"

"Well, the harbormaster confirmed that the boat had been in its slip this morning," the deputy explained. "He didn't see anyone around, but he also admitted that he was away from the marina for an hour this afternoon, from one until two, so it was definitely possible for someone to have snuck away with that boat during that window."

"Damn," Emma hissed, slapping the steering wheel agitatedly with the palm of her hand. "How would he have known? We barely had confessions by then…"

"Maybe someone tipped him off?" McCallen shrugged, "or maybe he had an inkling that someone was wrong? Either way, the boat is missing and apparently, so is Donleavy. There's a bulletin out for him, but if he did manage to get out of here in that window earlier today, he could be well up the Canadian coast by now."

"Not in this weather," Killian interjected. "With those swells, his tiny vessel would barely be able to manage a few knots. He'd have to hug the shallows near the coastline to avoid getting tossed about too much."

"Well, hope you know your seafaring stuff then," McCallen chuckled. "The Coast Guard has already been notified, as have Canadian authorities."

"I, for one, wouldn't question Killian's seafaring knowledge," Emma grinned, despite seething with ire that Donleavy had likely slipped through their fingers. "You know, former Royal Navy and all…"

"Well, until we pick up some news on Donleavy or his boat, how about we all head back to my place before the skies open up? I'm starving so I'll stop and pick up some food on the way home. Anything in particular that you'd like?"

"God, I could go for a huge, greasy cheeseburger with lots of fries, but I'm not sure that would sit well with Killian…" Emma sighed.

"Don't worry about me, Love," Killian jokingly chided her. "If that's what the two of you would like, I'm certain I could think of some lighter fare for myself."

"Burgers it is then. I know a great place about a block from my house. They also make a decent chowder if you think that would be better?" McCallen asked tentatively, not wanting to offend Killian, but he got a smile and a nod in reply. "Alright then. I'll see you two back at my place in about 45 minutes or so? I'd invite Haviland too but he apparently had a date tonight… Me, on the other hand, well, my Friday nights are always free…" Emma wasn't sure if the young deputy was kidding, but he didn't seem bothered or embarrassed by his statement. She was pretty certain that he enjoyed the company but didn't want or need anyone's pity for his single life. And since this would likely be their last night here in Portland, why not celebrate one big victory?


	20. Chapter 19 and Epilogue

_For anyone who has been following this fic, you'll know it was last updated in early October, 2018 and while my plans were to finish it at that time, it ended up being exactly one week before my mother passed away and I just couldn't get myself into the right mindset to complete it. Then, a couple of months ago, the csmarchmadness idea on Tumblr came along to help give us writers a little boost of confidence to finish those nagging WIPs and I decided to go ahead and tackle this story._

 _I've loved this concept from the beginning as it took Emma out of her magical comfort zone to solve a real world crime, working alongside law enforcement colleagues in Portland, Maine. As I did with the opening chapters, I tacked the epilogue onto the end of this chapter to provide a fitting bookend._

* * *

 _Saturday_ _Morning_ – _Portland_ _Harbor_

The tempest of the overnight thunderstorms had given way to a breezy, warmer Saturday morning. Hazy sunlight filtered through the window coverings of the McCallen's guest room as Emma was awakened by the persistent blip of notifications popping up on her cell phone, all of them informing her of the incoming text messages from Regina. According to the texts, Ursula would be waiting for them at the same Harbor front park at 9am with some updated news regarding her offer to return the Jolly Roger to her berth in Storybrooke's marina. While Killian wasn't keen on anyone else taking the helm of his beloved ship, he'd conceded to the basic fact that at the present time, he lacked the physical stamina to sail her back home himself.

Emma would have preferred another hour of sleep since it this was far too early on a Saturday morning by her opinion, but since they did have the drive home ahead of them, she begrudgingly swung her feet over the side of the bed. It wasn't a particularly long trip, but she still needed to be wide awake and she didn't want to get back too late. After nearly a week away, she was certain there would be a mountain of backlogged work awaiting their return. She noticed that Killian had already vacated his side of the bed, waking up before his wife to wander into the kitchen where McCallen had left coffee brewing for them and a note stating that he had ventured out the station to finish his paperwork from yesterday's major breakthroughs in the case.

Killian seemed a tad more upbeat this morning and even seemed to handle the walk from the parking lot down to the waterfront better, only needing to pause once to catch his breath. The Sea Witch was already waiting for them, scouting out a quiet bench away from the multitude of park visitors who were enjoying the pleasant start to what was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

"You're late," Ursula grumbled in greeting. "I thought you seafaring types were known for better timing?"

"My seafaring timing is as precise as ever," Killian replied, voice tinged with a hint of offense. "However, you should be aware that in this realm there's a thing called _traffic_."

"We would have called to let you know we were running a little late if we'd had a way to contact you aside from a conch shell," Emma reminded the witch.

"Cell phones simply aren't the most reliable where I come from," Ursula countered with a grin that Emma wasn't sure was intended to be jovial or sinister. "Anyway, I've made all of the arrangements to transport your ship as promised. My niece will _not_ be allowed to interfere with the vessel's passage."

"May I ask what arrangements you've made?" Killian queried. "Who did you find to sail her or is the transport to be more of a magical variety? I prefer not to have someone inexperienced at the helm."

"I managed to round up a few of your remaining crew, led by your former first mate, Mr. Smee. It'll primarily be for show though as once it reaches open waters, I can push your little boat along a bit easier…" Killian frowned at her use of the term _little_ _boat_ in reference to his ship, but held his tongue.

"So, my ship should be back in the harbor by the time we reach Storybrooke?" Killian chose to ask instead.

"Should be. Your crew is on their way here as we speak. I managed to find a fisherman who was willing to bring them down here to retrieve the Jolly Roger, although you may need to round up some of those gold doubloons you have stashed to pay the man for his service."

"How generous of you to offer up my funds as payment," he quipped sarcastically, although he was secretly grateful for all Ursula had done. She'd already rescued him from a watery grave so having her assistance in returning his beloved Jolly Roger to her home port was truly going above and beyond.

"I assume you have plenty of funds hidden, pirate," Ursula responded while flashing a broad grin. "Anyway, I need to get out of here before this park gets any busier so that I can supervise the return trip. See you in Storybrooke, Captain."

"Aye," Killian responded with a nod and a smile as the Sea Witch turned to depart, leaving him wondering exactly how much gold she'd promised his crew. But as she began to stroll towards the water's edge, Killian recalled one additional thing he wanted to ask her. "Ursula?" he called to her before she was out of earshot, grateful when she turned to face him again. "One last thing, if I may?"

"And that is?"

"Would you have my crew sail a pass through the inner channel? Not too close to the harbor, but around this side of the islands so that I might see her off?"

"I suppose I could do that," she replied as she took a few steps back towards the Joneses so she wouldn't have to shout. "I would have to uncloak the ship though."

"For a few minutes, revealing the vessel should be fine. This far from shore, she may appear as merely an illusion to anyone who may catch sight of her," he offered, eager to garner even a momentary glimpse of his ship nearly a week after he'd left her abandoned offshore.

"I'll see what I can do. You may want to hang around the harbor for a while though," the Sea Witch suggested.

"Any idea of approximately how long it'll take?" Emma questioned. "We do still have the drive back to Storybrooke ahead of us."

"Give me an hour," Ursula stated, not waiting for Killian to offer his thanks as she departed without another word.

As they watched the Sea Witch vanish behind a pier, Killian dropped his weary body onto the bench before he collapsed.

"Guess we have a little bit of time to kill before we hit the road then," Emma chuckled before noticing the forlorn cast to his gaze when he stared out over the bay. "I know you'd rather be sailing the Jolly Roger back home yourself…"

"It's alright, Swan," he said with a faint sigh of disappointment. "In my current condition, I'm well aware that I lack the necessary strength and stamina to properly man the helm. I'd much rather that she be safely returned to port, even if not by my hand." She could hear the disparaging tone of his voice and decided to think of something to distract him.

"Well, I really don't want to sit here on a cold, hard park bench for an hour while we wait for your ship to appear. Can we go grab a doughnut or something? And how do you intend to see the ship from across the bay anyway?"

"I believe you have a set of of spyglasses – I believe you call them _binoculars_? Aren't they somewhere in the vehicle?"

"Uh, yeah, there's a set of binoculars somewhere in the back seat."

"Then those should be sufficient," he replied. "I do have to agree with you though that sitting here for an hour is probably not the best option. I know we aren't far from the ferry terminal so perhaps we might pay a visit to the shopkeeper? I'd like to let her know personally that I'm alright if it isn't too far out of the way?"

"I'm pretty sure it's only a few blocks down the harbor from here. I think Ms. Scott would be very happy to see you. Think you can handle the walk or would you prefer we drive?"

"I'm feeling far better today, but I still believe it would be more prudent to drive."

"Okay, then let's get back up to the Bug and we'll go see if Ms. Scott has the shop back open."

* * *

Ten minutes later, after the short walk back to the parking lot and a four block drive through busy weekend harbor traffic headed for the marina and ferry terminal, Emma parked her little yellow Volkswagen beneath the old service station overhang. Although there were lights on inside Scott's Mart, the _Closed_ sign still hung in the window, but Emma noticed that it was now accompanied by a notice that the shop would be reopening Monday morning. Emma exited the car and strolled up to the entrance door, rapping forcefully on the glass to garner the proprietor's attention while Killian ambled slowly behind her.

"We're not open yet!" a female voice shouted from inside.

"Ms. Scott, it's Sheriff Emma Jones. I was here with Deputy McCallen a few days ago…" They heard some rustling from beyond the door and something akin to metal scraping against tile before the smiling face of Jean Scott popped up from behind the register counter. The shopkeeper's face lit up even more when she caught sight of the man in the black leather jacket standing behind Emma.

"Sheriff! My apologies for being so curt. Come on in!" Jean immediately unlocked the door and yanked it open for her guests, a mix of elation and gratitude expressed through her welcoming grin. "You're always welcome around here. Sorry it's still such a mess but I'm trying hard to get things straightened up and ready to get back to business. I know I owe you both a huge thanks. I heard from the other police officer – not the one who was here with you but the other guy… His name escapes me now…"

"Sgt. Haviland?" Emma offered.

"Haviland, yeah that's his name! He called me to let me know I didn't have to worry about Donovan Donleavy coming after my property any longer. He said there's a warrant out for his arrest, as soon as they can locate the slimy son of a bitch."

"Yeah, unfortunately it looks like he might have been tipped off somehow and slipped away on his boat sometime last night after the Toliver brothers rolled on him for having hired them to intimidate you, not to mention the kidnapping and stabbing of my husband," Emma explained.

"Well, when they find him, I hope they lock him up and toss away that damned key!" Jean exclaimed before turning her head toward Killian with a softening demeanor. "And you – I'm so glad to get a chance to properly thank you. If I'd have had any idea what those bastards planned to do… I don't think there are enough words in the whole English language for me to express my thanks. You may have truly saved my life that morning and I'm still mortified to think that it nearly cost you yours. I knew Donleavy was scum, but I had no idea he'd actually stoop this low."

Emma though she detected a faint blush creeping across her husband's cheeks as Jean Scott thanked him, but he was trying hard not to let it show. "It was the right thing to do, Milady," Killian assured her. "Neither of us knew that their nefarious plans went so far beyond robbery. I certainly must have had some luck on my side that morning, but the important thing is that the guilty parties are being held accountable and won't be able to harm you any longer."

Jean's head lolled to the side as she caught Emma's attention with a cheeky grin. "Is he always like this?"

"Pretty much," Emma replied, sporting a broad smile of her own as she watched the tips of Killian's ears redden as he flushed with an uncharacteristic embarrassment.

"How do I find one like him?" Jean sighed. "I'd love to have my own little British knight in shining leather." Emma found her husband's blushing even more endearing as he tried to brush off the compliment, realizing it was part of why she loved this man so much. Sure, he could be a total ass sometimes, but when the sweet, old-fashioned, chivalrous side would surface, she'd fall head over heels in love all over again.

"I don't know if there's a clone of him out there somewhere, but if I find one, I'll send him your way," Emma laughed. "For now though, we've got to get going. Now that the case is solved, we're finally heading home."

"Well, please have a safe drive back to your hometown and remember that anytime you're here in Portland, please stop by. It'll be coffee on the house! In fact, if you'd like one for the road, I'm pretty sure the pot is still hot. I've gone through plenty myself while trying to get this place cleaned up but there's more than enough to share. Would you like some?"

"I would absolutely love some coffee," Emma replied graciously.

"As would I," Killian said with a smile.

"Hang on a sec…" Jean scurried down a partially stocked aisle to her coffee shop counter and disappeared behind it. She popped back up a few seconds later with two tall paper cups of steaming hot coffee. "Either of you take cream or sugar?"

"No thanks," Emma replied. "We both take it straight."

Jean made her way across the shop to hand over the coffee cups to her guests. "Here you go. Hope it's not too strong for you."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Killian replied as he accepted her offering. "This wasn't at all necessary, but thank you."

"Anytime," Jean insisted. "Any time at all. I won't keep you from your drive home but I really do appreciate you stopping by. I'm so glad to see that you're alright."

"Good luck with getting your business back on track," Emma said as she shook Jean's hand before departing. "Hopefully things will go better now that there isn't a greedy developer breathing down your neck."

"Oh, there will be another," Jean chuckled. "It never ends around here, but hey, I know I'm in the right place for now. I'll manage."

* * *

Emma and Killian said their farewells to Jean Scott and had just started their drive back to the park when Emma's phone started ringing. Seeing that it was McCallen calling, she gestured for Killian to answer and as he did, he pressed the speakerphone button so that they could both hear the conversation.

"Hey, McCallen," Emma answered. "Sorry we missed you this morning, but we locked up before we left."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," McCallen's voice responded through the speaker. "I had to run into the station this morning to finish up paperwork relating to this case and I was worried I might miss you before you headed home."

"Well, you haven't missed us. We haven't left Portland yet," Emma informed their friend. "Killian wanted to see Jean Scott so she could see he was alright and now we're on our way to the harbor front park so that he can see his ship off. The crew sailing it back to Storybrooke for us offered to make a swing through the bay."

"Alright then, can you hang around the park for a few minutes? I've got some new information you'll want to hear, but I don't want to deliver it over the phone."

"Oh, don't worry, we'll be there for a while. We still have about half an hour to kill before the crew sets sail," Emma explained.

"Oh, good," McCallen replied. "I can be there in about twenty minutes. I'd really like a chance to see that ship too."

"You'll see just how magnificent she is," Killian said proudly.

"If you can see it at all," Emma countered. "The ship is going to be clear on the other side of the bay and I have no idea whether or not my binoculars will be strong enough… You two can figure that out though…"

"Okay," McCallen chuckled. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

* * *

The stroll down to the waterfront from the parking area took a little longer this time but Killian had insisted on heading to the furthest pier where they would have the least obstructed view of the bay. There was still one barrier island that partially obscured the horizon, but Killian was certain that they would be able to see enough of the channel to get a decent glimpse of the Jolly Roger. He was quite certain of the route his crew would take and that it would provide a brief window as the ship emerged from the far side of the landmass, before she headed out of the bay and into open ocean.

A visibly exhausted Killian dropped his fatigued body onto an unoccupied bench near the end of the pier as Emma's phone buzzed with a message from McCallen asking where he might find them. She typed back their location and half-expected to see the young deputy arrive in full uniform. She found herself a more than a little surprised to see him approaching dressed in casual attire after he spotted them and waved from the boardwalk.

As McCallen got closer, Emma thought about how this inexperienced deputy had become such a pillar of strength for her this week. He'd been so involved from the beginning, eager to help her out in any way he could and always trying to learn techniques to help himself grow as an investigator. McCallen still had a lot to learn and of course, had some physical obstacles to overcome, but Emma couldn't help to think about what Jean Scott had said about being in the right place and how it applied to the deputy as well. What had begun for him as a seemingly routine case to identify a John Doe had blossomed into a multi-jurisdictional investigation of a corrupt land developer. While McCallen's role in the Donleavy case may have been minor, the deputy's name was forever attached to the investigation and it would likely make a huge impact on his career.

"Hi!" the deputy greeted them once he was finally within earshot. "I haven't missed anything, have I?"

"Not at all," Killian assured their young friend as he lowered the binoculars. "I've not yet caught sight of her but it shouldn't be long now."

"Don't worry," Emma added. "You'll know the moment he sees it. It's all he's talked about all morning."

"So, this is kind of a big deal, huh?" McCallen asked with a crooked grin, almost as a tease.

"She's been a huge part of my life," Killian replied. "In fact, she was my life for a very long time, before I met Emma." He failed to notice the way McCallen glanced at Emma with a look that seemed to ask _Is_ _he_ _kidding_?

"I think that what Killian meant to say is that he spent many years working on that ship before we met. He puts a lot of effort into keeping it ship-shape. But yes – sometimes I swear he treats that ship like a person…"

"It's a good thing she's not able to hear you speak such blasphemy," Killian feigned offense as his wife laughed it off.

"See - I share my husband with a ship," Emma chuckled, shaking her head. "Anyway, I know you didn't come down here just to talk about Killian's ship. You said on the phone that you had some new information to share with us? Is it news about Donleavy?"

"Well, yes and no…" McCallen began as he took a seat on the bench next to Killian. "We got a call this morning from the RCMP…"

" _RCMP_?" Killian interrupted with a confused query as he didn't understand the reference.

"Royal Canadian Mounted Police," the deputy clarified. "Sorry, I should have been more specific."

"It's alright," Emma insisted. "We usually just refer to them as the Mounties." She'd explain the reference further for Killian when they were alone.

"Oh, okay," McCallen continued. "As I started to say earlier, we, well, technically Sgt. Haviland received a call from the _Mounties_ this morning letting him know that Donleavy's boat was located. Appears that it ran aground along the coast of Nova Scotia and by all accounts, was pretty beat up. Unfortunately, they found no sign of Donleavy. Haviland forwarded me a copy of the report. Guess he thought you'd already be back home if he didn't get in touch with you yet."

"I haven't looked at my email all morning," Emma confessed. "If he sent something there, I probably won't read it until we do get home – especially if it isn't giving us any whereabouts of Donleavy himself. At least we have an idea of where he escaped to."

"I do recall saying that he wouldn't get very far by sea," Killian reminded them. "The seas would have been far too rough for his minuscule craft. Even a sailor as experienced as myself wouldn't have fared well in that storm."

"Yeah, Donleavy was probably thrown overboard somewhere between here and Canada, before his ship crashed onshore," Emma suggested.

"There's still a remote chance he survived so the Canadians are going to continue their search to see if he turns up. They weren't entirely convinced that he'd survived either, but they're not giving up the search yet."

"Serves him right, if I do say so myself," Killian said with an eyebrow raised playfully. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes to survey the bay once again, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of the Jolly Roger. He stood as he caught sight of a set of familiar masts and sails materializing from beyond the inner harbor islands. "Ah, there she is!" he exclaimed with a huge grin stretching across his lips. "Such a thing of beauty…"

"Alright – you know I'm dying to get a look at this ship I've been hearing about. I mean, you've got the rings, the tattoos, the skull and crossbones pendant – there's definitely some kind of pirate obsession there so should I be expecting a pirate ship too?" Killian gave him a slightly nervous smile and Emma was practically biting her tongue as they both began mentally scrambling for a plausible explanation for the fact that Killian did indeed have have a pirate ship, and a marvel of one at that.

"Of course," Killian said as he offered the binoculars to the deputy and pointed to a distant location across the bay. "If you look out there to the northeast, you'll see her riggings just beyond that island." McCallen raised the binoculars and pointed himself in the direction Killian had indicated, his jaw dropping the moment he spied the tall ship on the horizon. He didn't know a lot about classical ships - he wouldn't have known a schooner from a frigate or a galleon, but this vessel looked like it could have sailed straight out of any pirate movie he'd ever seen.

"Wow! That's really your ship? It's definitely not what I expected, but seriously – you can sail that all by yourself?" Killian had to chuckle at the deputy's excited rambling.

"Indeed, I can," Killian replied proudly.

"That is so cool!" McCallen gushed, unable to contain himself. "What did you name your ship?"

"The J-…" Killian started to reply _Jolly_ _Roger_ , but something made him stop and reconsider, responding with the vessel's original moniker instead. "Jewel of the Realm."

"That's a really great name," McCallen told him as he passed the binoculars back to his pirate friend. "How did you ever come to own a ship like that?"

"Killian repairs and restores these old ships to keep them seaworthy," Emma jumped in with the most logical explanation she could determine. "And if you haven't noticed, he's a bit obsessive about his job."

"History deserves to be preserved," Killian stated, going along with Emma's lead. "And what can I say – I immerse myself fully into my work."

"Well, by the looks of it, you're very skilled at what you do! How do you manage to find the time as a deputy?"

"Don't have as much time as I used to so sailing has become more of a hobby now, but if you're ever in Storybrooke, I'd be honored to give you the full tour and a run about the harbor."

"I just might take you up on that one day, but since I have a tendency to get seasick, just admiring her from the dock would probably be enough for me," the deputy admitted with an embarrassed chortle.

"Well, my friend, if you ever want to try for your sea legs, my offer shall stand," Killian laughed as he raised the binoculars one last time to see if the ship was still visible but it appeared as though Ursula had already reactivated the cloaking. "Appears as though she has sailed beyond our purview."

"Oh, sorry… I'm guessing you're hoping to get back home around the same time as the ship?" McCallen wondered, not wanting to impede their plans.

"Yeah, that's sort of the plan," Emma stated as she glanced at her watch. "We definitely should get on the road soon, but Aaron, we really want to thank you for everything – for your help with the investigation into what happened to Killian... for opening your home to us. You've done so much more than you ever needed to."

McCallen's cheeks flushed as he tried to figure out how to respond to her gratitude. "Honestly, not many people have put as much faith in me as you did. I'm grateful to you for including me when you could have brushed me off in favor of letting Sgt. Haviland take over. I'm glad you didn't."

"You've got the instinct," Emma assured him. "You're going to be a great investigator."

"I guess we'll have to see how far a man with an artificial foot can get," McCallen said sullenly.

"As far as a man with an artificial hand can get," Killian insisted. "And that's as far as you desire."

 **Epilogue**

 _Saturday_ _Afternoon –_ _Storybrooke_

It hadn't taken Killian more than a few seconds after they'd exited the interstate before the gloved, wooden hand was discarded to the back seat in favor of his preferred attachment. Captain Hook was back and on his way home. By the time they passed the _Welcome_ _to_ _Storybrooke_ sign at the edge of town, he was certain he could already smell the marine air again and began to imagine the sound of crisp sails flapping in the wind.

They finally parked in front of the Sheriff station nearly two hours after they'd left the Portland harbor and Emma was eager to find some lunch to appease her growling stomach. Maybe as anxious for food as her husband was to get to the harbor.

"Are you really sure you don't want me to heal you?" she asked as they climbed out of the Bug.

"For the last time, Love, I'll be fine. Aside from a few aches and pains – and a bit of general tiredness, I'm honestly alright. I assure you, if I change my mind, I promise, I will let you know."

"Okay, okay… I'm gonna call the family and see if they want to meet over at Granny's for lunch. I'm sure they'll all be looking forward to seeing you."

"Sounds good, but allow me a few minutes first?" he implored.

"I know – you're heading down to the harbor. Want me to drive you over?"

Killian smiled and shook his head with a subtle _No_. "I think I'd like to walk."

"Alright. If you aren't back in thirty minutes, I'll come looking for you."

The quarter-mile stroll from the Sheriff station to the dock was normally a brisk, five-minute walk for him, but today, it took a few minutes longer and he was clutching his chest tightly as he reached the gangplank. He pressed on with stubborn determination, pushing himself up the ramp and onto the deck of his ship. Reaching the helm, he leaned his aching body into the wheel to catch his breath, fully aware that he was not alone.

"Returned, safe and sound, as promised," he heard Ursula's voice call out from below the quarterdeck.

"Aye, thank you for your assistance. I do appreciate all you've done for me."

"You are one lucky pirate. Although I suggest you try to stay away from sharp, pointy objects for a while. One of these days, your luck will run out…"

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Killian said with a half-hearted chuckle. "Am I also to thank you for last night's events?"

"Afraid I've no idea what you mean," Ursula replied with a feigned innocence.

"Of course not," he grinned, lifting a knowing eyebrow at the Sea Witch. "Pardon my error, Love. Guess I should make my way over to Granny's pretty soon. Emma will send out a search party if I don't make it back. Why don't you join us?"

"As pleasant as an afternoon eating greasy diner food with the Charming family sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to pass. But as for you, I'm serious – watch your back, pirate. One of these days, you'll find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time and there won't be anybody around to save you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she was already gone, leaving the words caught in the back of his throat. As much as he wanted to argue, Ursula was right. He belonged at Emma's side and that was honestly the only place he wanted to be.

* * *

 _Early Saturday morning – off the coast _of _ Nova Scotia_

 _It was late in the season for such a powerful Nor'easter and perhaps it was a foolhardy decision to be venturing out in such horrific weather but Donovan Donleavy preferred to take his chances upon the stormy seas rather than face the tempest that would be brewing at home if he hadn't run. He'd slipped out of the marina under cover of darkness before the authorities had descended. His sport fishing boat wasn't really designed for these conditions so he'd tried to remain as close to the coast as he could, but the howling winds and torrential rain kept blowing his battered craft further out to sea._

 _He was only a few miles off of the Canadian coast, estimating his position to be somewhere near the Province of Nova Scotia, but he was beginning to doubt he'd be able to reach a safe harbor. Rain lashed at the deck, making visibility near impossible as the ten to twelve foot swells pummeled the tiny boat. Donleavy clung to the wheel as long as he could until a towering, fifteen foot swell sent the vessel listing hard to starboard and it never recovered, capsizing in the cold waters of the North Atlantic._

 _He bobbed to the surface, struggling to keep his head above the waves as his arms flailed in futile attempt to grasp for anything that would keep him afloat. After a few minutes, he found his muscles tiring rapidly and he knew he wouldn't be able to tread water much longer. Of course, he still believed that drowning was far more dignified than the humiliation of watching his empire fall apart._

 _He was gradually giving in to the reality of a watery death when he felt something brush against his leg. Probably just a fish or a piece of debris from his boat he thought – until the offending object slithered its way up body and wrapped around his torso. While moments ago he'd conceded himself to drowning, suddenly Donleavy was in a panic as he recognized that he was being enveloped by a giant tentacle. He struggled only for a few moments, trying futilely to free himself as the tentacle constricted tighter - just before yanking him forcefully beneath the unforgiving waves._


End file.
